Babylon 5: The Wheel of Fire
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: Part 6 of the Babylon 5 AU. As Sheridan tries to create the Empire that will thwart The Hand, reconstructing a galaxy that has been devastated by war proves to be a challenge in and of itself. As this happens, two external forces, one good and one evil realize the truth, and both plan to fight. One to free Sheridan of evil influence and one to conquer using its influence over him.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"This is you friendly DJ Al Borland," the voice over the ships intercom spoke, "Just lay back, relax and listen to some good old Pre-Fall Music."

"Ensign Borland," Captain Enrique Montoya snorted, looking at the cards in his hand, "That kid needs a life."

"He just needs laid," his first officer, Commander Jonas Erickson replied, "And, I need to fold."

"What?" the weapons officer replied, shaking his head, "You haven't been all the way in tonight, sir."

Erickson rolled his eyes. "You keep yo' mouth quiet, Lt." he retorted, "We've got three weeks left and if I need to you'll be cleaning the latrines for the entire trip."

"What I don't understand," the engineering chief said as he raised the stakes, "Is poker has been around for what? Seven hundred or so years in card form? And it hasn't changed _a bit_ in all that time. Anyone else think that a change needs to be made?"

"Whose going to change it?" Montoya asked, "You? I raise you a hundred."

"I'll see your hundred," the weapons officer said, the hand passing to him with Erickson's folding.

"Sure, why not?" the chief engineer said, "I'll fold. And besides, we missed the Civil War because we got stuck on this recon mission into deep space. And for what?"

"The_ Maria _was sent out here to explore the vastness of space," Montoya replied, "And besides, we aren't exactly a battle-cruiser."

"But we ain't no exploration ship, sir," the weapons officer replied, "We were the last scout ship commissioned before the big war back home. We were supposed to be used to scout enemy locations. Not galevanting into the wild blue. And look, it's your turn Captain."

"He doesn't have it," the chief mocked, "Call him Captain."

Montoya stared very emotionlessly at the weapons officer. Montoya was one of the best gamblers of the Fleet, with one of the most perfect poker faces. His weapons officer though, while a loud mouth and less than the most respectful of soldiers, was a rising star and a formidable poker player. They sat for what felt like a couple minutes, staring at each other.

"I have a Full House," the weapons officer smiled, his big grin covering his infinite baby face.

Montoya sighed and dropped his hand on the table. THe young man stood to grab his winnings until he saw the hand. "A Straight flush!" he snapped, "D-n Captain! I had you."

"Well," Montoya smiled, sweeping the pile of credits towards him, "Apparently you didn't. So, one more round?"

Erickson shrugged, "We're all good for another thirty minutes."

"I'm down," the chief said.

"Fine," the weapons officer shook his head, "But I'll beat you this time."

"I'll beat you this time..._sir_," Erickson corrected him.

"No need to call me sir," the young man replied, "Unless you are promoting me."

Erickson raised an eyebrow at him. Almost two full years serving with this crew would drive any man insane. But it seems to have infected the Weapons Officer much sooner than the rest. Just then, the ship came to a stop and the ship went into "Grey Mode." This mode was similar to silent running,

"Captain to the bridge," Borland called over intercom, "Captain to the bridge."

Montoya raised up his hand and pushed the call button on his Link. "What is it son?" he asked.

"You better come and take a look sir," he replied.

Montoya raised an eyebrow. "Can you be more specific?" he asked.

A slight paused followed. "You'd better take a look, sir," he replied.

Montoya frowned, and turning to the gathered officers said, "A jittery thang isn't he?"

A couple minutes later he arrived on the bridge, grabbing the hand rails as he walked to keep himself from bouncing too far with each step in the low gravity environment. He walked up to the Ensign who turned from his station to look at the Captain as he arrived. He pointed to his scanners.

"We've got a fleet of unidentified objects nearly a hundred kilometers out," he said.

"_Objects_?" Montoya asked, walking up to the scanners and taking a look, "Can't you identify what they are?"

"No sir," he shook his head, "But we have gotten an image of what one of them looks like."

"Show me," he ordered and after Borland clicked a few buttons, an image appeared.

In all ways it resembled a star, a crooked one. Six spikes growing out of the side in every direction, and the top looked like a small triangle. Montoya had never seen anything like this before. Not against the Minbari, not Narn, not Centauri. What was this thing?

"What's this light coming out of the bottom?" he asked.

"Not sure sir," he shook his head, "I have-"

_What are you doing in our space?_

They both turned to see a holographic image on the bridge. It looked like in many ways a bullfrog from Earth, although it was clearly a hooded figure with large curves in the back. Perhaps they were poles or something. Montoya and Borland passed a glance, along with the three other bridge crew.

_No need to remain silent. We can see your ship. We detected it a million of your kilometers away. And I can see all of you on the bridge._

"I am Captain Montoya of the-"

_HRSS Maria. I don't care who you are. What are you doing in our space?_

"We are doing deep space exploration," Montoya replied, "I am sorry if we intruded upon your domain. We can give it a wide berth if you'd like. Just tell us where you want us to go."

_You are heavily armed for exploration._

"You never know what you might find," Montoya shrugged.

_Return from where you came._

"Can we not-"

_Leave. Now._

"Turn us around," he ordered, the ships engines turning to full and Grey Mode ending. The image only disappeared after he could feel the ship turning.

"Communications," he said, stepping over to his chair and strapping in, "Send a message as soon as we are a million kilometers away towards Remnant Command. Tell them we have run into what we believe is a massive fleet."

"Sir," Erickson said, having finally joined them on the bridge, "Do you think they'll let us go?"

"Not in the slightest," he said, "Charge weapons and be ready to..."

"We are being pursued by the objects, which I can safely say are ships," Borland reported.

"How many?" Erickson demanded.

"Ten...no make that twenty...forty...eighty ships are pursuing us at full impulse," came the report, "They are gaining on us."

"Increase speed. Distance to nearest jumpgate?" Montoya asked Helm.

"Be around two hours," the report came.

"We aren't going to make it in time."

"Battle-stations," Montoya ordered, "Deploy mines aft. Be ready to fire from the aft cannons. Communications, send that message now."

"Yes sir," the communications officer reported as she sent the message.

"The ships are within weapons range and twelve ships are firing...sir, impact in twenty seconds."

"Interceptors!" he ordered, "Fire!"

But, ten missiles bypassed the flurry of defensive fire and the ship bucked as the hull was shredded by the impacts. Consoles all over the bridge exploded and the ship lost engines, the entire engineering section having been targeted by most of the shots. The ship now drifted in space by the inertia they had built up. Hit after hit slamed into them, explosions ringing throughout the ship.

"Continue firing!" Erickson shouted, pushing himself from the floor where he'd been thrown.

"Looks like I'll be joining Maria in heaven sooner than I thought," Montoya whispered as the first of thirty hits struck them, destroying the ship.

* * *

It was the dawn of the Third Age of Mankind.

One years after the Last Vorlon-Shadow War.

It was a dream given form, an Intergalactic Empire where all were welcome to join in common defense.

A place for warriors, dreamers and wanderers.

Billions of Humans and Aliens working together to prepare for the common defense of their homes.

But it is a dangerous place, but it is the last, best hope, of freedom.

From their new citadel in space, Emperor Sheridan shows the way.

The year is 2262.

The name of the place BABYLON 5.


	2. The Men We Call Angels

**Chapter 1: The Men We Call Angels**

The new station was called_ Babylon 5_. Created to replace the fallen station, it had also been built with a singular purpose. Sheridan choose to remove the center of the Terran Empire from _Zha'Valen'Venni. _And give the Empire a proper place. Or, that was the plan.

The crowning jewel of the Terran Empire was to be built in the Human Remnant, recently rechristened, Earth Alliance. Actually to be built where Epsilon 3 had been before it's untimely and horrific destruction. Humanity had built the alliance that had saved the galaxy. Only right the Empire should be based there.

But, as Emperor John Sheridan headed towards the docking bay, passing by the statues of the old Entil'zha, and remembering the devastation of the past few years, but also the triumphs, he could only hear the whispers of glories and beings that had wandered these halls. Or, was there whispers? He left out of the main hallway and suddenly his feet seemed to take him in a direction he did not know. But, he was simply thinking of...what was he thinking of?

Before he knew it, he had entered the old Sanctuary of Valen. Not the one that was assigned to Entil'zha, this had been where according to tradition, Valen had looked out to the stars and pointed towards the great sea. It was here legend said he gave his "Sea of Stars" speech. Sheridan knew little of what the speech entailed.

"It is beautiful, no?"

"It is," Sheridan said.

"Who are you?"

Sheridan did not answer.

"What do you want?"

Sheridan did not answer.

"Who do you serve?"

Sheridan did not answer.

"Whom do you trust?"

Sheridan did not answer.

"Why do you not answer? Is it because you do not know the answers? Or are you here?"

Sheridan did not answer.

"You are dying, Sheridan," the voice said from the dark, "Your soul is gone. What is left is nothing but a shell. And what resides inside is not human. John Jeffery Sheridan no longer exists."

"Emperor?"

Sheridan started as a Tak'cha walked up by him. He looked at the Tak'cha, his long insectoid head turned oddly towards him. He did not know the name of the Tak'cha, for there was almost no way to distnguish one from the other.

"Oh, sorry," he said, waving towards the window, "I just came to look at the stars. The view here is amazing."

"What view?" the Tak'cha asked, "This room does not show space."

"What are you talking about?" Sheridan asked, "This-"

He turned towards the window. Only to be surprised by a massive wielded wall, blocking what might have once been an observation lounge. He was standing in a room that was no more than a storage closet. He frowned, but shrugging turned and left. Not a word was spoken as he left the room.

* * *

He awoke in the complete darkness, feeling the wishes of the Great God. They filled his soul, making him desire nothing but the will of the Giver of Truth. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs off the black bed and onto the floor. The floor was cold to the touch, but by the summoning of his will, the floor warmed to a comfortable level. Servants of the Great God did not have to go without some comfort.

With a sweep his his hand his removed the black robe from the phantoms that hovered in the room. And reaching back with his arms, the robe slipped onto his body, covering his nakedness. Without so much as a pause, he left his room, the door melting before his presence then reforming as he left. He passed by the disembodied crew and headed down to the turbolifts. The doors melted to received him and turning around, his eyes flashing with dark fire, the man who once was Michael Garibaldi descended into the heart of his ship.

No, not his ship. Everything belonged to the Hand. The Hand gave him purpose and strength.

The turbolfit stopped and opened into a chamber, where a woman was strapped to a black metallic table, bony hands holding her tight. He stepped up, his face an emotionless palate upon which anything could have been written. And lost.

Looking at the woman bound there, he knew he had loved her. Much the way he knew Hitler had once lived. That Earth was a planet. That Walt Disney did not create_ Looney Tunes_. They were facts with no relevance to who he was. He was an emissary of the Hand. And that was the lump sum of his life.

"Is she ready?" he asked, not turning to the pale doctor, his long antenna on his head clicking as he moved.

"She has not yet accepted the Hand," he replied.

"She must be an accepting vassal," the man who was once Garibaldi replied.

"Mi-Michael?" Elizabeth Durman murmured, "Let me go. I love you."

"There is no Michael Garibaldi anymore," he replied, turning from her, "I am Bopor Cbtina."

And he strode from the room, Elizabeth crying bitterly as a disembodied Priest stood before her and read from the Book of the Hand, weaving webs of the religion into her mind.


	3. A Mind's Link

**Chapter 2: A Mind's Link**

"There once was a dream. A dream in which humanity took it's place in the stars. This dream was the product of six thousand years of savagery and wisdom combined in a unique balance. Fifteen years ago, that dream was shattered when Earth was attacked by the Minbari, over a misunderstanding. And now, we are weak. Our numbers are few. But, we stand on the threshold of a new era.

"Where once was hopelessness, there is now hope. Where once we lived only in dread, we now can look with happiness. We can lift our heads over the trenches, because no one is shooting at us. Who knows what the future has in store. Not me. But, for the present, we shall fulfill the dreams our fathers and their fathers had.

"Unity and a good present. And whatever deity guides us, may they bless us in our endevours."

David Corwin let out a long sigh and slumped back into his seat as the hovering cameras turned off. Two weeks had passed as President of the newly restored Earth Alliance. But, he was finding it not as rewarding as it could be. Well, on second thought, he hadn't wanted the position in the first place. No, that had been his old friend and commander, John Sheridan. He had all but thrust the upon him and hadn't offered any help.

Oh well. There was a price that came with the power he enjoyed.

"Great speech, Mr. President," his Chief of Staff, the old reporter Dan Randall applauded him as Corwin wiped away imaginary sweat from his forehead, "But next time, I'd suggest you smile more."

"I'm the d-n President of the Earth Alliance," he grunted, in need of a drink but not seeing a cup anywhere, "I'll smile or not as I please."

"Of course," Randall nodded vigoursly, then pressed the small headset in his ear, "Oh, and we'll be arriving at Earth in about thirty minutes."

Corwin nodded. He had been in this tub for nearly a whole month as he inspected his new domain and was ready to get off the boat and create a new capitol. Theresa Howard, the Provisional Governor of the Sol System, had actually established her presence in Syria Planum on Mars. But, it wasn't called the Mars Alliance. It was the Earth Alliance and as such the capitol should be on Earth. Corwin was thinking of perhaps in old Switzerland. Maybe Hamburg, Germany. Sure, he had grown up in the old American Northwest, but he preferred somewhere else.

"Has my Vice President been informed of my decision?" he asked, standing and stretching his arms, the muscles popping as he did so.

"Yes," he nodded his head, "And he will meet you where in London, as you've requested."

"Good, good," Corwin nodded his head, walking towards the door to the little men's room.

"Oh," Randall said, holding up a finger, "And he says be prepared for an ear full."

Corwin rolled his eyes and muttered, "Of course he does."

* * *

_Can you hear me?_

_Y-ye-yes._

_Good. My name is Lyta Allen. I'm taking care of you._

_Thank you. Where-where are we?_

_In Nova Quebec._

_I see...Are you still there?_

_Yes, I am. I'm going to help you, Alfred Bester. I'm going to help you._

_Thank-thank you._

_Get some sleep, Bester. I'll be here when you wake back up._

Bester didn't sleep well. Even now, knowing he was safe, there was still a part of him that detested the surrender of his conscious self to the dreamland. That and he had always been a tad bit insomniac. But, he realized sleep was what he needed most at the moment. His dreams were only two things. One had him wandering in a white field, hearing the whispers of other telepaths. The other dream was of sitting next to Talia, and it only ended one of two ways. Either he drank lemonade with her, or would talk about the future of telepaths. Never anything else.

And today was walking through a white field. He heard whispers, but they were subdued. The telepaths were subdued. As if something more powerful was over them, silencing them. He continued walking, not knowing what direction he should go, but forward. So he continued in the path chosen for him. In this dream, he never meet anyone else.

So, it was surprising when he saw someone on the path ahead, standing, looking one way the other. Obviously lost. Bester walked up to him and stopped, looking at him. He knew this man, had even talked to him on occasion before. Before the Second Minbari War, at social functions. Some called him a traitor to humanity. Others called him a hero. And yet others thought he was a visionary, a modern-day Moses.

The man looked over at him and blinked, like one who could not believe what he was seeing. But then, quiet frankly, Bester couldn't believe what he was seeing either. This was his dream, and no one could randomly enter. He had spent his entire life dreaming of this place, and what was this intruder doing in his private sanctum?

"What are you doing in my dream, Emperor Sheridan?"


	4. Moving Narn and Centauri

**Chapter 3: Moving Narn and Centauri**

_The steel grip of the fingers clenched around his throat, squeezing shut the windpipe. He collapsed onto the throne as slowly the grip was killing him. But he wouldn't be killed so easily, and he reached around, his own hands gripping with an intensity he hadn't felt in so long. Slowly his hearts were stopping and his vision was being painted in a color of dark red. _

Mollari started from his sleep, his breath heavy and ragged. Sweat covered his face, but slowly he wiped it away, his hands trembling as he did so. What a terrible dream. The same dream that had haunted him for years. The death dream.

Emperor Londo Mollari the Second threw back the heavy sheets and swinging his legs around, moved to the computer console and typed in a command. As the computer awaited the call to be patched through he called out around him, "Lights." The lights turned on with a vicious intensity and squeezing shut his eyes added, "Low."

The door opened and the helmeted head of one of the guards peered in. "Are you in need of assistance?" he asked.

"No," he shook his head, "Thank you."

The guard made one more quick glance, then nodded. "Of course sire," he said, closing the door as he stepped back out.

The computer screen let out a series of beeps. He turned and the white coated, completed shaved front desk nurse of Centuari Prime Hospital looked at the screen. She was the stereotypical hospital matron, down to the eye-pieces. Over two centuries had passed since the Centauri had perfected retinal surgery, but there were many who held onto these pieces of a bygone era.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Can you tell me how the Lady Timov is currently doing?" he asked.

"Timov?" she let out an annoyed sigh, looking at a paper list of patients, "She's still in intensive care. Would you like me to call you back if her status changes?"

Mollari stared at the screen. Timov was perhaps one of the few women he really cared about. Once, long ago, Malachi had asked him if he could have one wish, what would it be. He had replied with a 'Divorce Mariel and Daggir'. When asked why only those two, he hadn't had a good reason. He still didn't have a good reason.

"No," he said, holding up his hand, "Thank you."

He pushed a button to end communications. He turned to look back at his bed and began moving towards it. Sheridan might have built a vast Empire, but would the peace he promised be more then the wishful thinkings of a naive human? Who knew. He was going back to sleep.

* * *

The Centauri warship flew around for another pass, the three civilian transports hurrying as fast as they could to the jump gate. Lasers passed through them, missing them but coming dangerously close. The Centauri ship leveled off and fired back a response, one of the five long Selvan ships rupturing as it was hit with several consecutive hits.

The Narn Heavy Cruiser tried to speed past the warship, only to have to turn as the elegantly shaped Centauri cruiser swooped around, and began firing a stream of pulse weapons at the cruiser. But, even as several sections of the Heavy Cruisers hull tore off with the explosion, the Selvan fired several lancing blows at the Centauri ship, destroying it's starboard engine. The Centauri ship began to list to port, continually firing, tearing apart the Narn ship, which was now able to return fire itself.

The jumpgate began to activate, the vortex opening blessedly to allow them to escape the clutches of their enemies.

"Thank you for the help," the captain of the lead cruiser called out, "Gods bless you."

"Just get out of here!" the Captain of the Centauri cruiser replied, as explosions announced the shearing off the right circular "wing" of his ship, the Selvan carving into his ship like a ham or roast.

The vortex closed behind them, not showing them the final fate of the Centauri cruiser. But, all in their memories would stand an image of the Centauri ship, it's swivel pulse cannons firing in multiple directions, one of the Selvan ships exploding dead center, but the rest moving in on it's wounded prey.

* * *

G'Kar was Grand Master of the Narn Regime. He had overthrown the cowardly members of the Kha'Ri. They had sold their planet out to aliens. Now he had set himself upon the throne, sole ruler of the Narn people and it's mighty war machine. Only a fifth of the Narn military had participated in the Second Narn-Centauri War and the subsequent Narn Occupation. It was only right they use the might they had.

What had been the charge that Human Technomage, Galen/Gideon, whatever his name was had said? "Rule the Centauri until the one who was to be Emperor was ready." That man was Vir Cotto. And Londo Mollari was not him.

So, he would fight wars unmeasurable against Mollari. He would tear the teeth from the "Lion of the Galaxy". He would turn it into an amusement park, open for 10 to 5 Human time. He would turn the Centauri into an endangered species. He would fight until Vir Cotto was on the throne.

G'Kar held up the plate of fresh spew and sniffed it. The Centauri were like the spew on his plate. Meant to be eaten. He had given so much for his people, and now it was time the Centauri repaid the debt. Who was to stop him? He took his fork and stabbed into the white block of goo and put it in his mouth, chewing on it. And wishing it was the bones of Mollari he was eating.


	5. Right of Power

**Chapter 4: Right of Power**

"Mr. President," the short but lanky Asian man said, with his trim mustache and pointed beard, "Forgive the mess the office is in, but the Minbari didn't settle here in London. In New York, Tokyo, Rio Da Jeniero and Johannesburg, yes. But not London."

"No problem," Corwin said, looking at the twisted back of the chair, "So, what do you think of my offer?"

"I don't think it is a wise proposition," Senator Hidoshi replied, shaking his balding head, "I have spent my career making Presidents have a hard time. Why would you want me on the cabinet? As your Vice President no less?"

"First off you've been in politics since the '40s," Corwin replied, using his hand to sweep off a layer of dust and wondering why he hadn't had a maid come and clean up around here, "I need your experience. I am a soldier, not a politician. Second, you are a man willing to hold his ground. But you also know when to bend. I need that as well. Also," he added with a wry smile, "You are a cranky son of a b-h. I think we will get along famously."

Hidoshi scratched the top of his head. "Not exactly the best qualifications for a famous partnership," he mused unconvinced.

Corwin stepped up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. He always had liked Hidoshi, even as a soldier. He remembered Hidoshi giving a speech to General Ryan about only steers and queers came from his part of Earth. The man had been a riot and shot down the General like nobodies business.

"Exactly!" he said with a broad smile, "And as your first official act as my Vice President, I want you to summon Captain Elizabeth Lochley here."

Hidoshi frowned deeply. "Why?" he asked.

"I have unfinished business with her."

* * *

The door opened to the ruined office and in stepped Elizabeth Lochley. Corwin looked at her over the spartan room. The office had been cleaned as had most of the building in the three weeks he had been here. But, beyond a flag with the emblem of the reestablished Earth Alliance and a small computer terminal at his desk, he really didn't have anything in the room. Not even a descent curtain over the window.

"Captain Lochley reporting as ordered sir!" Lochley saluted him.

It gave him a good deal of satisfaction as she clenched her teeth in his presence. Just three years before she had outranked him. And had last time they had spoken. But now, _he_ was in charge.

"You resisted me and the liberation of Humanity," he said, trying to keep relaxed and calm even though his hand was clenching so hard in a fist he was digging into the palm of his hands.

"I did my duty as I saw fit," she said, "And I don't recall ever firing against you and the rebellion."

"The fact you refused to side is treason enough," he held up his hand, "And no matter what you say, you and your scum crew will be punished for your following a corrupt government."

"May I ask a question?" she asked.

"No," he snapped his fingers, "You may not. You and any of your crew who did not openly support us during the rebellion are banished outside of Earth Alliance space. If you are caught in any part of the Terran Empire proper, you shall be executed on sight. You have three days in which to evacuate_ Babylon 1_."

"And how are we to make it out of Imperial space?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"You will be given a prototype destroyer made for deep space exploration," he replied, "A combination of Vorlon and Human technology. The Imperial-Destroyer Class _Victory_. You will have a fighting chance, but you will never be allowed to come here again. Dismissed."

She stood there, her mouth opening and closing but he didn't hear any words escape her lips. She turned away and marched towards the door. But she stopped as she reached the door and asked without turning around, "Is this because I broke up with you?"

"_Dismissed_."

* * *

"As you can see," the Chief Engineer said, ducking underneath metal bulkheads that were hanging from the ceiling to the floor and wiring hanging out, "We've got most of the station completed, but it's going to be another month if not two before the station is completely online."

"What's the holdup?" Sheridan asked, following his dodges and weaves, Neroon and Kulomani following him closely.

"Our funds are running low for starters," the man said, coming near a non-functioning turbolift, turning and heading down towards a staircase that led to the next level up, "At least three of the Imperial powers aren't sending us their share of the money."

"Whose not sending them?" he demanded.

"The Narn, the Drazi and the Selvan aren't," he said.

"See to that Kuolmani," he ordered, "What else is behind?"

"The Drazi won't send the workers that have been assigned to the station," the Hispanic man said, pulling off the small cap from his head and scratching an itch out of his hair.

"Why not?"

The man waved his hand, "They say the Government hasn't honored the agreements to advance their technology and they won't send any until the Government does."

Sheridan swore under his breath. Where did the Drazi come off thinking the could deny any request he made? From his own sweat and blood he had forged this Imperial body and he wouldn't let nobody, Human, Minbari or Drazi make his job tougher. The galaxy needed to be united and rebuilt so it could withstand the Hand. There was no time for such childish games.

"This is an Empire," he snarled, "Not a free electronics store. I gave them no such guarentees. But I'll send a message to the personally and get them on track."

"That might be harder then you think," Neroon replied, proudly wearing the Entil'zha robes as leader of the Rangers, "The Drazi don't take kindly to anyone ordering them around."

"I have ways of making them obey," he replied darkly, a dark fire seeming to crackle behind his eyes, "I need this station up and running so it can be the center of the government for the Empire. What would be the ETA to completion with the Drazi workers?"

"Four weeks tops," the Hispanic man shrugged, "But funds are still wanting."

"Just get this station operational," Sheridan replied, "I'll get the rest. My Empire, my responsibilities."


	6. Telepathic Webs of Deception

**Chapter 5: Telepathic Webs of Deception**

Sheridan blinked a couple times. "To see another being at all is beyond my wildest dreams," he said and took a few steps towards the short telepath, "I had hoped that I'd eventually be found, but to see someone now standing before me, what a glorious feeling."

Bester stared at him. What was this man doing in his dreams? This was _his _sanctuary. And no one could just waltz in without permission. So what gave Sheridan, even as a dream image to arrive in his dreamland without invitation? He waved his hand.

"Be gone," he ordered, continuing to wave his hand like a spell-caster of ancient times, "My dream. What I decide comes here shall come here."

Sheridan raised an eyebrow and looked down at him, cocking his head to the side. Bester continued to wave his hand, willing him away. One of the things even mundanes could learn was how to control their dreams while in the dream. Like Talia once had told him how she had dreamed a dream once she was in a school of mundanes and had willed them to all be telepaths. It took a bit of mental discipline and an inordinate amount of imagination to do so. That was what Bester was trying to do.

"What are you doing?" Sheridan asked after a few seconds.

"Trying to get you out of my dream," Bester replied, getting more and more frustrated.

"Can't get rid of me so easily," he said, folding his arms.

"Why not?" the telepath asked with a snort, "You are no different than any other dream element."

Sheridan smiled and burst out laughing. That was even more frustrating to Bester. Dreams do _not_ laugh back at you. Certainly not to Bester. What madness was this?

"I'm not a dream, Bester," he said, "Let me show you."

And with that he hit him hard across the face.

Bester awoke with a start, pain exploding in his right cheek. He jolted awake, his heart racing. He reached up and touched his cheek, and the whole cluster of muscles was painfully sore. Dreams also couldn't attack him. Perhaps he had punched himself in the face in his sleep. But no, his knuckles didn't hurt, a by product of hitting something in the face.

Only then did he notice where he was. His eyes scanned where he was currently. A small rundown apartment, the windows boarded up, and glass shards all over the floor. He was laying on a mattress, torn with padding sticking out, small tips of the springs digging through the mattress. The paint was peeling from the walls and ceiling, and in a chair next to him, a woman, a very pregnant woman was sleeping.

As he looked at Lyta Allen, he at once felt something in his heart. Love.

* * *

-The Vorlons did not create telepaths to be ruled by anyone else.- the Vorlon standing before Sheridan replied, a hint of anger in his voice.

"I rule both Chaos and Order," Sheridan reminded him, "As such, you will do with your weapons what I order."

The Vorlon was the only survivor of the Vorlon High Command. He (although ascribing gender to the Vorlons was actually probably idiotic, probably not having genders anymore) had been away near the Minbari territories in the old Earth Alliance when Sheridan had assaulted their Empire and brought the entire Vorlon Empire to it's knees without hardly a shot fired. His name was Ges'tel and he served now as one of the Imperial Advisers to Sheridan, the other being a the Shadow servant, an unnamed race who stood with wide black eyes and a massive brain that could block telepathic communications.

"I must agree with the Vorlon," the Shadow Servant replied, his words sounding as if they were in a blender, "Telepaths are generally not powerful enough for what you propose."

Sheridan smirked and drew the glistening sword of light and dark from it's scabbard and watched the energy of it flow out. With this sword he had felled the Crystal Queen. But, as he held it, he thought not of that. Instead, he was the sword. The physical representation of the sword, carrying the power of Vorlons, Shadow and First Born in his veins. He was most likely the most advanced human in the corporeal form that would ever be.

"If the Drazi, Narn and Selvan will not do as I have ordered," he explained, "Then three things could eventually happen. One, I would take the fleets and destroy the ideas of resistance from them for a thousand generations. I would live that long and would ensure it. Force their obedience by bloodshed. I would prefer to avoid this."

"Why?' the Shadow Servant asked, "If they deny you, there must be payment in flesh."

"And yet a resentful people makes poor servants," Sheridan reminded him, "Only a fool makes a resentful people. Now, the second thing I could do is send Neroon and the Rangers in. Overthrow the governments of each planet and set up the Rangers as the government. But the Rangers I'd rather be kept as a means of keeping the peace. This would only engender revolts and would eventually lead to my bringing in the fleet to crush them."

-Wisdom becomes you.- Ges'tel nodded his silver and gold dome.

"The last thing I could do is use telepaths to reprogram each government," the Emperor continued, as if the Vorlon hadn't spoken, "People will generally follow what their leaders say. Like sheep following the shepard. They are simply too dumb to do anything else. I'd rather have this than anything else. Clearly we have powerful enough telepaths."

"But the war destroyed most of the telepaths," Kulomani who had been sitting in the room listening to them said, "There are too few now to effectively control them all."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," Sheridan held up the sword, staring at the blade in shadow and light cloud. "This isn't a debate. We are going forward with this."

Kulomani bowed his head. What could he possibly say that would change his mind?


	7. Loved I Not Honor More?

**Chapter 6: Loved I Not Honor More?**

Sech Turval was one of the leaders of the Anla'Shok. A master in the Ranger arts, his specialty laid in the Arts of Meditation and Contemplation. Both were vital to the Anla'Shok. One needed to know how to calm the mind and reach deep into their thoughts and draw useful conclusions. And not just biased beliefs.

But, this man of the Religious Caste, this leader of the Eight Fane of Tredomo was finding it especially hard to figure out why he needed to be babysitting the two Anla'Shok that trailed behind him. Tannier and Rastenn were among the more recent recruits to the Anla'Shok, somehow surviving the Vorlon-impulsed Minbari Campaigns against the Shadows. But, how did they manage to survive? Tannier was a skittish thing, jumping at every little sound. And Rastenn was looking for a fight everywhere he went.

Hopefully he wouldn't feel the need to as they stepped up to the Sanctum of Neroon. Neroon had chosen not to take the Secret Chambers of the Entil'Zha as his own, but had instead decided to reside on his old ship. The _Ze'blat'hat _was an elegant ship, like all Minbari ships. Elegant and deadly in purpose, but aesthetically pleasing to behold. The crew was smaller then most, only fifty instead of the regular compliment of a hundred on a _Sharlin_-class warship.

"Now, young ones," Turval instructed, as they walked down the purple and white hallway, "Do not speak unless spoken to. I realize it might be hard for you, but trust me this once."

"Of course," Tannier replied.

"Doubt you us?" Rastenn asked with a snort.

"I do not doubt you two young men," Turval replied, "I doubt your ability to listen to common sense."

They completed the trip to the Sanctum. Two Anla'Shok Rangers stood outside the door to the Sanctum, of the most secret Order of Belkok, the most elite of the Rangers. They wore completely black robes and their faces had red shrouds pulled over. They did not bow to them, in fact, they remained as still as living rock. Statues carved by a master hand.

But, the door opened as if the occupant inside had seen them and they saw Neroon standing at the door. How befitting the Entil'zha robes were upon his proud warriors body. Neroon's eyes jumped from person to person, a hint of disdain towards the younger Minbari. But, he inclined his head slightly towards Sech Turval in respect.

"I was on my way to see if you had arrived," he replied, "Come in."

"Oh?" Turval said with humorous smile, "I am touched by your concern."

"This is a large ship," Neroon replied, the small troupe following him into his spartan quarters.

For a man of much bluster, Neroon had little to show of his triumphs or accomplishments. Two denn'boks were on a small case laid in honor. And the banner of his clan was unfurled from the far wall. It was interesting to note that he hadn't displayed the Imperial Banner, which was a spiraling galaxy with a sword through it. Neroon went to the other side of a small desk of Minbari java wood and sat behind it on a chair of engraved wood, with a dark blood red cushion on the back.

He motioned Turval to the only other chair in the room, of similar fashion to the one he himself sat. The two young acolytes stood behind and the the side of their master. They were not invited to sit, despite their being there. In the eyes of anyone who knew, they were not even acceptable as Rangers until they had completed their training. Until that time, they were essentially shadows in the open.

"His_ Imperial Majesty," _he stressed the last words sarcastically, "May have need of us soon."

"Oh?" Turval asked politely, "Does not our helping rebuild constitute as needs we are fulfilling?"

Neroon's lips twisted in a disgusted sneer. "Apparently we need to also be prepared to step up our, as the humans would say it, game," he explained.

"Oh?" Turval's polite ironic humor turned to slight confusion.

"Our Lord and Master feels that if he cannot bring the less then inclined to obey his whims," Neroon explained, "we will need to help bring a change in the heads of the governments."

Turval's eyes grew wide and then hardened slightly. He had been a proud member of the Anla'shok since he had been the tender age of twelve cycles. No one in the order had lived and been a Ranger longer then he had. He proudly wore the Anla'Shok robes.

"I am a Ranger," Turval said slowly, "I stand between the candle and the star. I stand on the bridge, so none may pass. I am a guardian of light. And I will not become a servant of subversion and forced obedience."

Neroon stroked his small beard. "I understand how you feel," he replied, "And I wish I could do something-"

"Respectfully sir," Turval shook his head, "You know nothing of the Anla'shok. You are a Warrior, pretending to be anything besides that. You see not the Rangers of Valen being anything more then a private army of your own. And if you decide to follow madness and darkness, I want no part of it."

Neroon stared at him. "We all must do our part," he reminded him.

"At what cost though?" Turval asked him, "When is enough enough?"

Neroon stared deeply into his eyes. So deeply that Turval felt as if he was falling. He tried to pull out, but was unable to. The last thing he knew was the dark and slimy blade of the Shadow as it cut across his throat, killing him instantly. As his dead body hit the floor, Neroon looked mournfully at it.

"I wish there was a choice," he whispered.

"There is a choice," the Shadow replied, "The Choice of the One that Will Be."


	8. Imperial Demands

**Chapter 7: Imperial Demands**

Doctor Franklin looked up from the cell culture he was studying to see Delenn standing near the door to his office. Her eyes looked very tired, deep purple bags forming underneath. Her hands clutched loosely at David as the boy walked, but they were bony she looked entirely as if something had drained her. Her beautiful hair was a tangled mess and she stumbled as she entered his office.

Franklin jumped up and caught her as she began to fall. "What happened Delenn?" he asked, helping her over to the bed, where she all but fell into and melted into the sheets.

"St-stephen?" she gasped, her son wiggling free and running around, "I am so...weak and tired."

"When was the last time you ate or slept?" he asked, grabbing a medical scanner and turning it on began to run it up and down her body, a few inches separating the two.

"I..." she blinked, as one who has been running on fumes for too long, "I don't know. Please...I need help."

"That is quiet apparent," Franklin responded, looking at the readings on the medical display, "You are sleep deprevated, and your physical state suggests you haven't eaten in at least a week. What's going on?"

"Whenever J...John is around," she said, "I lose the need to sleep or...or eat."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Surely not," he said kindly, "I realize you love each other, but this is ridiculous. Why hasn't he forced you to eat something? Terrible on his part if you ask me."

"Don't...don't question him," she begged, reaching up and pawing at him, "He's...he's not what he once was. He's different. More easy to anger. More ease to...enrage. Stephen, don't let bad things happen to you. You are a very...good person."

"Don't you worry now," he said, stroking her hair, "You'll be fine. Let me deal with him when the time comes. But first, we need to get you feed."

* * *

"The Drazi will not submit to your demands," Council-Member Tukel of the Drazi Freehold shook his head.

"Surely you realize this is a lost cause," Sheridan replied, his benevolent face holding it's calm demeanor, "We must do what we can to keep this Empire running. You, I, everyone. There must be submission."

"No submission of the Desert to the Sea or the Sky," Selvan Ambassador Hek'roo said, his black robes and white dome cap making it hard to understand the mysterious people."

Sheridan looked at Selvan, and for a second the Selvan seemed to disappear from before him. Had Sheridan wished it, he could have vaporized these disobedient creatures. It would not have been too hard. They were no more important then the molecules that had combined to give them life. But, he still had to deal with these fools.

"And what about the Narn?" he asked, turning to the Drazi, "Why are you not helping build this station or giving over your portion of the funds?"

"We have other uses for it," the Ambassador replied, "Internal reconstruction, farming..."

"Or war?" Sheridan asked softly, "I know you have been attacking the Centauri. Have you forgotten who rules the Terran Empire?"

"Of course not," the Ambassador replied with a shrug, "You are the Emperor."

"I declared the war over months ago," Sheridan scratched his chin, "Did I not?"

"Of course."

"Then how dare you attack them still?" Sheridan bellowed, "The Terran Empire will fight the Hand. War is coming to them. But how can we win, if you are weakening us?"

"We are Narn," the Ambassador snorted, "We need no one."

"The Empire needs every warrior for the fight ahead," the human stood up and slammed his palms down on the table, "Wars kill warriors. And civilians. We mustn't allow our passions to run wild. It will destabilize the Empire."

"We fight only our ancient enemies," the Narn shot back.

"I gave an order!" Sheridan roared, "You will obey it!"

"We are Narn," the Narn waved his hand dismissevly, "We are strong! We are brave! We are-"

"Subjects of the Terran Empire," Sheridan snarled, darkness enshrouding him, "Do as I have ordered."

The Narn smirked. "Every downfall starts with a single blunder," he quipped, "The Narn Regime secedes from the Terran Empire. You will receive our offic-"

He gasped in pain as Sheridan was suddenly before him, his hand thrust through his chest. His skin wasn't broken, but Sheridan's arm was thrust into his chest cavity. He could feel each finger as they wrapped around his heart. He shuddered as he collapsed to his knees on the floor, the Selvan standing looking mystical as always, and the Drazi freaking out screams in fear. Sheridan's eyes had turned completely white and blazing with intensity so much to burn the mind of the Narn.

"Secede?" Sheridan chuckled, "I think not. I can feel your heart. Thump, thump, thump. Can you feel it?"

And with a tugging pull back, Sheridan's hand pulled from his chest in an explosion of skin, muscle and bone. The Narn collaped, dying as blood poured in torrents from his chest, his last sight was his heart pumping the last bit of blood from it. His sight clouded over and everything went dark for him. But the Selvan and Drazi were left to see the Emperor toss the heart onto the floor and move behind his desk, Narn matter falling onto the floor with every step.

"Let that be a lesson," he said, no longer turning his attention towards them, "I will expect the materials sent by the end of the week. Now go."

* * *

The death of the Ambassador, whose name was Ne'fela, was the start of the Narn, Selvan and Drazi Rebellion. The Rangers were called in, along with the Vorlons and Shadow fleets, and planet killers laid waste to several planets and assassins ran throughout the military installations of the rebels, destroying, murdering and sabotaging. Within two weeks, the Narn and Drazi surrendered, with the leadership supplanted by the most trusted Rangers as military governors. The battles had been many and furious, but none of them could stand up to the dark and deadly weapons that were finally seeing light for the first time.

But on Selvan and the three planets of their Trimu, the rebellion would last longer.

* * *

The Narn stepped off the transport, the spaceport's walls doing little to keep out the howling wind that battered against the walls and made it's way through the cracks. The transparent dome overhead which was created by super hardened sand that had turned clear, showed the violent clouds of the sandstorm as it went over, around and through the cracks of the city. Mo'gol'roth was the capitol city of the Selvan homeworld, whose Selvan name was so sacred it was not told to outsiders.

He hoisted the careworn and traveled bag over his shoulder and strode forward, the bustling spaceport a pandemonium of excitement as refugees from the Rebellion flowed here. From the youngest pouchling to the gnarliest old man, from the limbless wounded woman to the tough and ready warrior, they all fled here. Within two weeks they had lost their freedoms, Sheridan having stripped them of all rights and privileges. Even he had barely escaped the bombardment of the Narn capitol and made his way through the tightening blockade of death giving ships to Selvan Prime, as his people called it.

"Welcome to Mo'gol'roth," a short Selvan with grey robes of the Royal Court bowed to him, "My name is Ke'Nio, Second Runner of Messages. The High Master and his Handmen are most anxious to see you."

"Not much into pleasentaries are you?" mused the Narn.

"Such things are for other races," the Selvan sneered, "The People of the Sand and Heat and Cold need not bow to anyone or stand on occasion. Not on the Land of the Burning Sand."

"Of course," the Narn said with an amused smile, "So, as the Humans would say in their old science fiction movies, 'Take me to your leader'."

"Follow me," the Selvan said, twisting around in a flourish of robe and stepping off, his sandals showing what looked like fur on his feet.

_Are the Selvan furry creatures?_ G'Kar of Narn wondered as he followed the Selvan out of the spaceport and into the until recently completely alien world of the Selvan


	9. Not all Road Lead to Babylon

**Chapter 8: Not All Roads Lead to Babylon**

Two Years Prior. Cavern of Za'Ha'Dum

"Alright, I think I am ready. Everything is becoming warm. It feels good."

Death is not so bad, John Sheridan. Now, let go. And enter Tock.

"I LOVE YOU, DELENN!"

Lorien stood in place, looking down at the broken body of father, son and Vorlon. They had accepted the inevitable. They all had. And now, he smiled. At long last he had finally had someone to talk to.

He reached out his long hand and bent over the corpse and placed his hand over Sheridan's torso. Ummm. Yes, he could feel the last embers of life, as they scurried around his body. Like rats they swarmed over his body. No, not rats. Like raindrops after a rainstorm they slid over the glass looking for the bottom. Yes, that was more like it.

A simple manipulation of energy here, a simple transfer there. The art of regeneration was not the same as resurrection. That was a power even he, First Born and Eldest, did not have. Even in death the body still lived. Molecules still moved, hair follicles still grew, the mind kept working even when the heart had stopped pumping. The finite existence of Humanity was astonishingly profound, as was the fact they had barely begun to scratch the surface of the meaning of life and death. What was it he once heard their greatest poet say? "There are more things in Heaven and Earth then are dreamt of in your philosophy." Yes, he liked it, because it was so profound. EVen he did not know all the secrets of Heaven and Earth.

He could feel the transfer begin, flowing from him, manipulating and stimulating life back into the fragile bodies. He could give maybe twenty years back. No more, and no less. As he focused, he didn't feel until too late the splitting of dimensions. He tried to pull back from the transfer but not fast enough.

_How can they penetrate my sanctuary?_ he asked himself angrily, as he spotted several creatures, looking like massive octopus flowing out, their massive tentacles reaching out to grab him. Already weakened from his interrupted transfer, he stumbled backwards at the first psionic blast from the Third Space Aliens. Their names were ancient and sacred, known only to one outside their realm. Long had Lorien dreaded that the Zellaron'Malkok, the Gods of Death, would find a way back into this galaxy at a time when it wouldn't be ready to resist. And sure enough, his fears had come true.

Very soon he was overpowered, but not without a great struggle. Even in his weakened state he was powerful. As he was enwrapped and slowly sent into unconsciousness, command came from the God of Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.

_Heeee mustttt liveeee. Eldesttt cannotttt beeee killedddd. Bindddd himmmm. Andddd finishhhh theeee regenerationnnn. Thissss mortallll willlll serveeee meeee welllll._

* * *

Present Day, _Babylon 5_

Sheridan stood at the base of the massive chamber, the rows of seats going upward. In a few minutes he was going to be giving his first "State of the Empire" address. He had taken his cue for the address from the old addresses given by North American Presidents, something that had fallen out of favor with the Earth Alliance. The Presidents had never been much into given talks. But, he believed that sometimes the best way was traditional ways.

The auditorium could hold roughly 300 people, and the room was packed to overflowing. So many wanted to hear the words of the man who combined the Younger Races and defeated the First Ones. But also the one thing that brought everyone together was bewilderment. How could a man of such infinite promises have suppressed the Rebellion (as it was called) with such violent actions and ugly deliverance. If they thought he'd apologize for his actions, they'd be mistaken. There was _no_ way he'd apologize for doing what was needed to be done.

The time came upon him to start delivering his speech, Rangers standing at various points, seen and unseen. Hovering cameras from news reporters from a dozen worlds floated above the crowd and they gathered close as he stepped up to the podium.

"Today you come to see me. I created the Terran Empire to unite us all. Yes, there have been some bumps along the way, but we stand at the precipice of the great goals we all strive for. Is not the goal of any person to live in harmony with those around him? I have seen a vision of greatness for the Younger Races, and as the Ancient Ones now are forced to accept, we can stand upon our own feet. Yes, even yoke and subjugate those who would stand in our way.

Some believe me to be a God. That I am. Some view me as a Being of Light, a messenger of the Gods. That I am.

And some see me as the harbinger of doom. That I am as well. I am whatever the times require me to be. There is no greater pinnacle to be surmounted then the one we set before ourselves. I vow that within twenty years, there will not be a corner of the Galaxy that hasn't heard of us. They will be offered the choice. Join us, leave us be, or be destroyed.

Some might call this arrogance. They'd be right. How arrogant must one be to think he can conquer the galaxy and bring it to heel? Arrogance and confidence are often mistaken. Why are they mistaken? Because they are one and the same.

For those of you who doubt the wisdom of what happened to the Drazi, Narn and Selvan, consider this. Is not any body of government stronger when united? They threatened the stability of the entire Terran Empire. There are greater threats than anyone of you can ever realize. And I will not allow anyone to tear us apart. United we will stand. Divided, and you shall all fall."

* * *

"I'll be back soon," Lyta said to Bester, who was slowly walking around, his feet still unsure as he recuperated, "I need to go get some groceries."

"Alright," he nodded, the short Russian leaning heavily against the wall, "I'll be here when you get back."

Lyta stepped out of the apartment, the weight of her nearly born child making walking pretty difficult. She was by no mean out of shape, or even a skinny person, but this baby felt like a massive cannonball about ready to explode. She walked down the hallway from the rundown apartment, but had only gotten maybe a couple feet before massive bouts of pain hit her stomach. She screamed in pain as she fell to the floor and blacked out.

No time seemed to pass in her mind as Lyta awoke, her head and stomach buzzing with pain. But the first thing to pass through her mind was, _Where am I?_

She didn't know where she was, but she noticed glass surrounding her and also of note was the water surrounded her. Her clothes were gone, and her stomach was missing something. Her child was gone. What...of course. She had gone into labor. But...where was her child? Long hoses bound her, some through her ear, through her nostrils, one going through her mouth. Every opening in her body had a hose coming out, even ones she didn't know existed, like gills on the side of her neck. Even her more intimate areas had hoses running from them. Bubbles shot up through the water chamber and through the turmoiled water she could see shapes.

-The Human is awake.-

_Of course she is._

She didn't know who was talking, but one distinctly sounded like a Vorlon in her mind. -Do not worry little one,- Constantine whispered in her mind, -The offspring of the flower is in friendly soil.-

What...what am I doing here? she asked, tears mixing with the water.

-Not all are willing subjects of the Empire- he said, -And those of the Vorlons and Shadows that resist the Emperor Sheridan need a vassal. A weapon to win against him.-

Who is that weapon?

-You are.-


	10. Entertaining the Dogs of War

**Chapter 9: Entertaining the Dogs of War**

The auditorium was packed full of people. The lights on the walls were at a comfortable level, allowing people the ability to see where their seats were. People called to each other in greeting as they spotted a familiar face. Business men passed the false pleasantries only they could muster.

So much had passed over the last few years. Civil war, terrorist attacks and a hundred different things to boot. The Human Remnant was been changed back to the name 'Earth Alliance', but everyone knew they were more a shadow then the end of the First Earth-Minbari War had seen them. Between the myriad of wars and treachery from their own governments, only seventy-five million people still remained. In two generations, nearly ten billion humans had been killed. The population problem was so bad that President Corwin had lowered the marriage age from eighteen to sixteen and had abolished the "Abortion Act of 2050" which gave world-wide right for women to have abortions. They needed children and badly if they were to reconstruct their civilization.

But, despite the promises of bright futures from both President Corwin and the god-like Emperor John Sheridan, only one thing remained constant. And for that reason the three thousand seats of the Martian Opera House was filled to the seams.

Rebo looked out from behind the massive curtains at the audience and smiled. It warmed his heart considerably to see so many people gathered all in one place. Just like the old days before Earth had fallen. He pulled the curtain closed, although to be fair, he had only opened it ever so slightly so he could peek out without being seen.

"It's quiet a crowd tonight," he said to Zooty, who was pulling on his black vest, "It'll be like old times."

The shorter man stuck his hand into his vest and pulling out the golden "Machine" pulled on the bottom of it. "That's teeeerrrific news, Reba!"

Rebo rolled his eyes. "I really wish you wouldn't use the Machine to talk," he replied, "It's unnatural."

"Your mom was also unnatural," Zooty's retort came from the Machine and he gave a smirk.

"Ah Zooty," he shook his head, "50,000 years of evolution only happened to other people, don't you think so."

Zooty stuck his nose in the air, pulled on bottom of the vest and the announcer over the PA announced their names to the cheering fans. Taking their tops hats in perfect sync stuck them both on thier heads, turned in step, and using the roller skates on their shoes skated out onto the stage, to the thundering cheers of all present.

"Welcome, welcome," Rebo called out as they stopped on the stage and with flicks of their feet thier skates soared in the air and catching each others skates tossed them overhead and towards the audience, "Keep them! We'll take a cab."

"As long as the Religious aren't in there," Zooty added with the Machine, causing a quiet chuckle to run through the audience.

"Ah Zooty," Rebo tisked, stepping up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, "It's the ones that mind their own business you need to worry about. The extremists though, their harmless."

"Like this?" A PPG appeared in Zotty hand and pointing it point blank at Rebo's crotch fired a shot. Rebo collapsed in a sob of pain, and as a cry of fear rose from the people watching them, he held up his hands and showed no damage to his manhood.

"It's all still there!" he exclaimed.

"Now you can still have your date."

"Date?" Rebo asked, "Who is this date I'll be with tonight?"

"Your right hand!" Zooty held up his right hand, causing the whole audience to roll with laughter from people who found the sick humor tickle their fancy.

* * *

Some claimed the Remnant Civil War was over. Well, officially it was. But Jake Thompson of the HRSS Advanced-X Omega Destroyer _Shadow Walker_ knew it was anywhere but over with. He and his compatriots of the _Shadow Squadron_ or at least the two other ships that hadn't bowed to the new government had for months fled the advancing might of the Terran Empire. While they made it look like Pax Romania throughout the galaxy, the truth was that they were being hunted down.

The ship shuddered as it took one of a number of consecutive hits from the pursuing White Star. Sparks lept from a console as the wiring that ran towards it ruptured, throwing the young woman back towards the wall behind her. He took little notice of it as they rerouted the controls to a different station. He could hear the groans of pain that the ship screamed into his mind.

"They are within range of the rear batteries sir," Commander Gilles reported from her station, the ship rocking again.

"Don't engage them just yet," he ordered.

"But our Starfury escort is wiped out," she responded, "And we've suffered twenty percent damage to our engines."

"Give me rear view and drop us down to one-fifth impulse and don't fire," he ordered and he could feel Gilles' questioning glance, "Do it!"

"One-fifth impulse," Helm replied, and he could feel the ship slow down.

"The White Star is one hundred kilometers and closing," weapons replied, "Ninety-five. Ninety. Eight-five."

Gilles was sweating with stress, her fists clenching. He knew she was getting to the breaking edge of losing her composure. But, he knew what he was doing. He hoped so. Or else they were all going to regret it. The view showed the White Star zooming through space as it approached them, firing weapons as it came.

"They're right on top of us sir!" Gilles snapped as the weapons officer reported the 'Fifty kilometer' mark.

But he was waiting. Even as the ship was struck by a shot and jolted, he waited. Like the spider in his trap.

"Thirty kilometers. Twenty. Ten."

"Sir!"

"Fire all batteries!" he ordered and every gun on the ship opened fire. He watched on screen as the White Star, which had been bearing down on them spiraled as the front section was hit, and each gun seemed to find it's mark. Soon, the ship exploded, the force of the explosion pushing the much larger ship and causing the entire bridge crew to sway from the impact.

He let out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding. He looked around, seeing most of them were still all in one piece. He could see his crew shaking slightly from the scare. But, this would be a day to remember. They had successfully taken on a White Star by themselves and had won. Lived for at least another day.

"All sections report status to Commander Gilles," he ordered through the ship-wide intercom. He leaned back, her glare shining through the dark on the battle-damaged bridge. The voices of the different section officers reporting in came over the normal post-battle chatter on the bridge.

"All sections have reported in," Giles replied, "Weapons suffered moderate damage along with the engines. A small hull breach is in the rear compartments. Engineering crew have been dispatched to the Starfury bays and the rear compartments. Engines will be repaired shortly. ETA to repairs completion: three hours."

"Instruct the Chief to focus most of his attention first on the engines and weapons," he ordered, "We can keep the rear compartments sealed as long as need be. What are our casualties?"

"Seven dead, ten wounded," she replied.

"Helm," he ordered, "Resume our course to the rendezvous with the _Bombard_ and _Corrupter_ near Alpha Megus," he said, standing up, "Lt. Commander Hitchins, you have the conn. If you will join me, Commander Gilles."

Both officers replied with an "Aye, sir" although Gilles was less forth coming then young Hitchins was. He strode off the bridge, the young attractive XO following him. He made towards his Quarters, wishing that his Ready Room hadn't been all but destroyed in the last engagement with Alliance forces. His quarters were two levels down from the bridge, but soon they made it, neither speaking as they passed by repairs crews.

The door slid shut behind them as they entered his quarters. He walked to his bed, and turning sat down on the edge, shaking his head. It was so odd for him to have an officer under his command that he shared a mutual attraction that she had for him. But now was not the time for such thoughts.

"Commander," he said, rubbing his dark hands together, "I realize that you must do what is right. But, I do not appreciate you debating my orders in front of the crew. I value your opinions, but only if they are respectfully given. Shouting them does nothing to ease the crews nerves during a battle situation."

He paused to let her speak, but she held her mouth firmly shut. A few seconds passed in silence. Neither willing to talk. But, Thompson knew his woman as it were, and she spoke first.

"We have been lucky," she said, "Lucky that the Empire hasn't considered us a serious threat. But what happens when they do? You refuse to call in reinforcements, and you pull stunts like that. You'll get us killed one day when your luck runs out."

"We all die," he reminded her.

"We don't only have our lives to worry about," she countered, "Ever man and woman on this ships depends on us to do all we can to save them."

"What would you have me do?" he asked, "Call in the only two ships allied with us? Fighting this way allows us to keep alive. Our idea of the Remnant alive. If we all died at one go, the dream and any who would resist the Emperor and his allies would be discouraged."

Gilles clamped her jaw firmly, clearly angry. Thompson knew it wasn't only the recent battle that was trying her. She had put in for a transfer just before the Sh'lassen Campaign. They had planned on pursuing a relationship once she got on another ship. But, the destruction of the Government and the continual fight and flight of the past four months had changed any plans they had.

"Go get some sleep," he said with a sigh, knowing he could never fulfill her or his desires, "You'll feel better afterwards."

She turned and left him without saluting and he looked up at the ceiling as she left. _Dad? If there is an Afterlife and you are there, help me make the best decision._


	11. Legacies

**Chapter 10: Legacies**

G'Kar sat in front of the shaman in the hut. He had been summoned here on short notice, his guide helping him through the canyons that were the only protection from the sandstorms. The winds howled outside, but he was safe in the hut, the leather skins that created the walls keeping out the grains of sand that would have stripped his bones of flesh and skin if it had been able to. A small fire was in middle of the room, the smoke rising and swirling around strips of dried meat and the mogonus plant, the only plant to grow on the planet with any sustenance.

The Shaman was clothed no different from other Selvan. He wore brown robes that tied down his large round cap, with white strips of cloth hanging down. His inner robes were sandy colored. A thick grey beard passed under the edge of the robes. This interested G'Kar immensely. How many people knew that the Selvan had fur outside their own race?

The old Shaman did not move but from him came a question in his own language.

"Hek no roun mae bunka?"

"He asks if he can look into your soul," the Drazi merchant that had come with him asked. He was the guide, having trader many years on the planet, one of the few to have set foot on the Nameless planet before the Rebellion.

"Why?" the Narn asked, wondering what madness this was.

The Drazi asked in the language of the Selvan. The Shaman did not stir but replied.

"Nek roman cer. Go ndor, mord'or, mi ddle'ear th. Narn boogie."

"He says," the Drazi said slowly, "that you look for strength to accomplish impossible. The strength is inside you."

G'Kar couldn't help but laugh, chuckling openly. "What does he plan to do?" he asked, wiping away at his lip, "Read my palms? Read rodent entrails? I think not." He rose to leave but he stopped as the Shaman's head bolted upright and his eyes glowed silver.

"Sar'sar rounuman. Ara'gan gorn dalf. Fro sam dowise baggam gins'gee."

**_Narn, Thirty years earlier_**

_The large Narn walked into the main room of the mansion. Three Centauri women were there, laughing at some joke. The Narn was carrying a large tray, three glasses of hot jala on the tray, the heat of the alcoholic beverages causing vapors to rise from the top. He went to the mistress of the house, leaning forward to give her a cup. _

_"Ga'lar. Serve the guests first," she said, pointing to the women, one who had not yet become of age to shave her head._

_He bowed and proceeded to give them to the other women. They accepted them, the older one giving no thanks but the younger one doing so. The other women laughed._

_"Drusella, darling," the mistress of the house said, "He's a Narn. There's no point in thanking him. He's a savage and manners are lost on him."_

_He tried not to make a face of anguish as he proceeded to give her the remaining drink. Outside on the front step, G'Kar played with the youngest of the three children. He tossed the small ball to the young boy, who giggling turned and threw it at Ga'lar. The ball hit his elbow, upturning the hot drink and pouring it all over the front of her bodice, burning her bosom. She shrieked and G'Kar watched in horror as the guards were summoned and they dragged him outside, tying him to a tree, his hands strung in the air. He watched his father beaten and then for three days he was left out in the hot sun._

_On the third day, G'Kar went up to him, and tried to cut him down._

_"Remember me," his father had said, his breaths coming out harshly, "I am proud of you. And one day you will learn, that nothing is exactly what it appears."_

_And he had died with that utterance. That night, as the mistress took her nightly stroll, the lord and his family preparing for dinner and only one guard being about, G'Kar had killed the guard, snapping his neck. He then knocked out the mistress, and carrying her off to a creek a mile from the mansion, killed her as well. Stripping her naked, he had then ripped her throat out with his teeth._

"D-n you!" he snarled, coming back to the present, "How dare you reach inside my memories like that? That was intensely personal."

"Shamans are known for their unique gifts," the Drazi merchant said, toying with a loop of beads at his shoulder.

"Stay out of my heads!" G'Kar snapped, trying to suppress the anger and fire that was building inside of him.

**_Narn, Twenty-six years before_**

_"He ain't much to look at," the battered Narn man said. G'Kar couldn't help but be oddly proud to be in the presence of such a man. Three fingers gone, three teeth busted and scars covering the whole of his face, he showed himself every inch the Narn resistance fighter._

_"Believe me WarLeader," the young woman said, her fingers laced in G'Kar hand, "He'll make you proud."_

_The Narn snorted and spat out a large wad of white juice onto the ground. G'Kar had never met anyone who chewed milkar, the Narn equivalent to tobacco, a shadow of legar which was something the Centauri had made in response to Human tobacco. But, was that not what the leader of a resistance cell was supposed to do?_

_"Have you ever killed a male before?" _

_"Yeah."_

_"Have you ever killed a female before?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Have you ever killed a pouchling?"_

_"Well...no."_

_"Have you ever raped anyone?"_

_"Of course not!"_

_"Have you ever killed a Centauri?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Have you ever killed a Narn?"_

_"Why would I do such a thing?"_

_"Because there is no difference!" the WarLeader snapped, "Any person that is not working in the best interest of Narn, must be killed. But sometimes, rape is a much more powerful weapon then death. It doesn't matter who it is. Narn, Markab, Human or Centauri. All are alike before G'Quan. What if you run into a Narn one day that collaborated with the enemy? They are just as guilty."_

_A sobbing sound could be heard, and two Narn rebels dragged out an elderly Narn female. The WarLeader stared at G'Kar._

_"Kill her if you want to be one of us," he said, "She slept with Centauri soldiers as a pleasure female. Show me you have what it takes to be one of us."_

"Stop it!" G'Kar snapped, grabbing his head, "Just stop it."

**_Narn. Twenty years before_**

_The Centauri were leaving Narn. They had given up the Occupation, the losses too high and it being too costly. G'Kar watched as the transports on the great spaceport near Gakazma was being boarded by civilians and soldiers alike. The female at his side wrapped her arms around him a smile on her face._

_"We've done it," she said, "We've won."_

_"Yes," he said, "We have won Nat'la. Narn is ours and we can do anything we want."_

_"We can raise a family in peace," she said, and he silently agreed._

_Lost he was in his thoughts as the troop transport slowly rose over the edge of the hill. He glanced back, and watched as the doors opened. Yes, that would be the rest of their group. They had recently commandeered a Centauri troop transport. But, the troops that came out and began firing were not Narns. He pushed Nat'la to the side as he grabbed the pulse pistol to his side. But he was hit in the stomach and fell to the ground. Blasts also struck her, still falling from his push._

G'Kar was on his knees, the memories as vivid as if he were reliving them. He was shuddering from the pain of old wounds, both physical and emotional. He was tired, tired of so much war. So much carnage. But he was especially tired of the Centauri.

What gave them the right to think they owned the galaxy? He had them at one time in the palm of his hands. He should have crushed them when he had the chance! To whatever darkness the Humans believed in. He should have ignored the messages from the d-n Technomage! What did that bald human know of pain or loss? He wanted a Centauri on the throne? Never!

He didn't even noticed the mists issuing forth from the Shaman's robes as they circled him.


	12. Senate of Silence

**Chapter 11: Senate of Secrets**

Meanwhile, the Centuari were busy focusing on their own rebuilding efforts. For the most part they had been left alone by the new government, as long as they harbored no rebels. Which was all well and good for them. Between the Fall, Occupation, Resistance, and Liberation, the planet's economy and infrastructure had been over fifty percent destroyed. Bridges needed to be built, homes reconstructed, while ones that couldn't be repaired were torn down. A year had now passed since the end of the Wars and it was time for celebration.

Minister Virini walked among the celebrations as they went throughout the planet. He confined himself to the Capitol, but the masses had come out in droves. People laughed, food was served by the plateful. Fireworks went up and exploded all day. Children ran through the streets, laughing and playing games. Jugglers juggled balls the lit up in unique patterns of light as they were thrown. Magicians played tricks and musical groups let their music blare across the streets.

Ah...today was a good day to be Centauri. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, letting it fill his lungs. It was such a merry day indeed.

Watching him from the alleyway was a Ranger. Garbed in his brown robes, he was here on business of his own. Most people had by now known that Rangers were meant to be invisible and paid no mind. So, they didn't. He waited until the Minister went to grab some food, Centauri gelatin pies. He passed out of the shadows, glancing around him as he came. Now would not do to be caught by unwanted eyes.

Virini grabbed the food and turned, suddenly to see the Ranger standing before him. He gasped and started, grabbing at his chest and nearly losing the food. He laughed awkwardly.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to sneak up on people?" he asked with a chuckle.

"I have no time to pass this information on to Vir Cotto," the Ranger said urgently, "Tell him that the Senate of Secrets is about to move forth! Tell him he needs to-"

He stopped and glanced around, and his eye caught something that Virini couldn't see. His body tensed and Virini touched him, hoping to grab his attention.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Tell him the Senate of Silence is ready to move! Tell him!" And with that the Ranger bounded forth, slipping like a wind through the blades of grass. He was gone within a second, leaving him to ponder the words. He shrugged, assuming there was nothing to it. He'd get around to telling Vir when he had a chance.

The Ranger ran fast, his long strides surprisingly agile in the tight crowd, barely touching a soul as he passed this way and that. He ran towards a bridge that would pass into the residential area, and where he could move more freely without hindrance. He nearly ran into a Centauri clown on stilts, but he kicked out a leg and slid between the legs as the man moved. He rolled himself to standing and throwing another glance back, put forth another burst of energy, passing the last group, children with an Earth dog, leaping over the dog and causing the children some consternation.

He ran across the bridge, passing through a crowd of people that were moving back and forth across the bridge, some going to the festivities, some leaving. The River Tuwain ran through this part of the city, and a bridge spanned the length. He made his way across the river, turning towards the first side street and ran down it, running as fast as he could. He kept changing the direction he was running. Sometimes he'd run down a street, only to cut down an alleyway, jump a fence and cross a yard. No one would have guessed where he was going, but there was a small shuttle of Anla'Shok near the southern district that while hidden, he could find.

Soon, he was within sight of the shuttle. He could see two Anla'Shok there standing and talking. He gave a ragged shout, his breath coming in pained burned gasps. The Rangers looked up, and seeing him, immediately rushed back into the shuttle. His calves burned but he needed to get there. His boots slapped the pavement as he heard the engines beginning to warm up. A few more steps. That's all that was needed. He reached the side door, reaching out, when a spray of blood flashed across the cockpit, and he could see a young Minbari female struggle backwards, grabbing her fighting pike. But she hadn't even gotten it extended when with a flash of movement, her chest erupted in a fountain of blood and she fell backwards, her neck seeming to slice open of it's own accord.

"No!" he shouted, placing his own hand on his denn'bok. But just then, he felt himself slam into the side of the shuttle, the sharp blade passing through bone and muscle, and then back. He slid across the shuttle side, his chest leaving a wide streak of green blood across the metal as the Drazi Ranger hit the ground.


	13. Of Gods, Demons and Men

**Chapter 12: Of Gods, Demons and Men**

The massive _Abyss_-Destroyer had not been a place for many sounds. Laughter, the heart-filled type. The sounds of merry-making. The exclamations of love only those who had known love could understand. But, one thing it had heard is screams. Screams of pain. The walls had seemed to suck in the pain of thousands of tortured souls and was touched by them in a way that no one but the most faithful could understand.

Dea-Mans continued to float past the bald man in the halls, going about the Great Gods wishes. And the man understood the pain that the Hand desired. Bopor Cbtina, Prophet of the Hand understood full well what it mean to sacrifice all. Had he not shed the skin that had been Michael Garibaldi? But, the pain he felt and reveled in was not his own. Cbrwehha Matn Anrbona, she who had been Elizabeth Durman, but now mother of the Hand's Messiah, screamed in the pains of her labor, the demented child inside worming it's way out like a glorified putrid worm, looking to escape the holiness that had imprisoned it.

He would stand here, in the hallway, feeling the gratuitous desires of those who had no bodies and no will to choose of their own accord.

"Holy Eminence," a voice whispered. It was more hateful than anything heard in this galaxy since the last great war, but also had so much love it could make planets commit suicide because they dared not partake even a portion of that love. "Come to the chamber to speak with me."

"Yes, Great God."

He turned on his heel, and with a sweep of his hands, the walls opened, creating a passage only he could enter. As he stepped through, the walls melted closed behind him, the screams of the Mother being sucked into the wall which relished it by all the dark arts that had created it. Through the self-made passage he walked, until he exited into the grand chamber, the dark form of the hooded Great God stood before him. He bowed, the rooms darkness welcoming him.

"Bopor Cbtina," the Great God spoke before him, his voice rattling the walls, "How does it proceed?"

"The birthing should be done within a few hours," he replied.

"Good, good. Once the birthing is done, you shall discard the woman. She has no place in my plans."

Bopor looked up slightly, a dark flame smoldering in his eyes. "I was hoping to keep her to raise the child," he said, "He will need her."

"_He_?" the Great God muttered, "How little you still understand. The woman is of no consequence. Discard her."

"Yes, My God," Bopor lowered his eyes again.

"When you have completed that," the Great God continued, "You shall summon the faithful. Open up the entrance to your dimension. My forces in the Milky Way are ready to advance; they await only for my servants."

"Yes," Bopor replied.

* * *

"Are you sure this is wise?" Lochley turned to Gideon, who stood in his black leather robes on her bridge.

"Destroying the gateway is the key to riding Sheridan of the evil influence over him," Matthew Gideon replied, Rolling the tip of his finger along the edge of the jewel that topped his staff, "And the best way to do that is to assault Za'Ha'Dum."

Lochley folded her arms across her chest. She didn't know if she could take the Technomage seriously. She had traveled great distances with him over the past fourteen months. And had escaped much with his help. But that didn't stop her from relying upon her own judgement.

"And why should I do that?" she asked, "It's one of the bulwarks of the Terran Empire. Surely you don't think we'll be able to do more then die a heroic death."

Gideon smiled broadly. "Isn't it a wonderful plan?" he asked in delight.

Lochley rolled her eyes. She knew she would regret this course of action. "Helm," she ordered, "Plot a course towards Za'Ha'Dum."

"Aye sir."

* * *

His muscles bulged with each motion of his body. Sweat dropped, drip by drip onto the ground. He did not mind though, not the hours of practice.

_You must learn to shut down all emotions._

He was now doing jumping jacks. His arms and legs shot up, down and sideways as he moved. The rythmatic beat of his heart set the pace.

_The Shadows work with the manipulation of desires. Bridle your wishes._

His body seemed to float up and down as he pulled himself up to the bar. It was almost as if a wind blew him up, and gravity sucked him back down, only to be pushed up again by the air.

_The Vorlons are the masters of Order. You must unlearn all your order._

The long hallway seemed to stretch on forever, silent sentinels watching every motion. His footsteps sounded like the crashing of hammers on metal as he ran. The wind seemed to rush before him, attempting to slow him down. But onward he pushed.

_Only when you have learned all these things can you overcome Sheridan and his masters._

He had done well. As he stood before them, robed in white linen, his mouth and headbone draped in cloth, he was an impressive sight, even though he was only Minbari. It was nothing like the majesty of the Walkers, who stood as flames behind a helmet of wood. Or the Mek'ton who stood with a bulbous mouth and three lumps sticking out in different directions. Or even the Lig-borninangs, whose eyes were surrounded by flashes of light.

"The Senate of Silence has decided the time is close at hand," the head Walker said, his non-corporeal form throbbing with light at every word.

"Yes," the Minbari nodded.

"Are you reading to champion us against Sheridan Starkiller?" the Walker asked.

"Yes."

"Then, prepare yourself for the battle to come, Anla'shok Lennier."


	14. Who Would Ever Want to be King?

**Chapter 13: Who Would Ever Want to be King?**

The lone figure strode through the space port of Mo'kal-takt. Not the Capitol City of the Nameless planet, it was however more secured, hiding in a massive cavern that shielded it from the fierce sandstorms. A massive Centauri dress flowed around the figure, and massive lengths of long black hair flowed down it's back. No one could have told it was G'Kar, exiled leader of Narn in disguise. And that's how he wanted it.

The Imperial Fleet of White Stars and Drazi ships wouldn't see the Selvan Sliver ship as it was so small that it could go virtually undetected through any detection grid. At least, that's what the Selvan who had sold it to him had said.

He hoisted the bag onto his back, and spotted a Narn leaning against the side of the ship. Stepping closer, he recognized the way the arms were folded over his chest and the scars that slid down the noble face. Even the way he leaned against the ship was completely unique to one individual.

"Ta'lon?" G'Kar asked, stepping up next to him, "Is that really you?"

"That is who I am most days," the sturdy Narn warrior said, "Except on days when I am not. Then, I am something else."

"How long have you been here?" he asked, now standing infront of him.

"Seven days," came the short answer.

G'Kar blinked in surprise. "Seven days?"

"I slept on the eigth day," Ta'lon shrugged, "And then came back on the ninth."

G'Kar looked him up and down. "I thought you were killed when the Rangers landed in G'Kamazad," he said, "I saw you fighting a bunch of them as I ran towards the shuttles to evacuate."

Ta'lon shrugged. "A wise man once said," he quoted, "The hardest man to kill is the one you believe is already dead."

G'Kar nodded. It was a good idea. But, he really had to be going. He patted Ta'lon on the shoulder and stepped up the the entrance to the ship, slapping twice on the door which swung inwards.

"I suppose you are off to Centauri Prime," Ta'lon said.

"How did you know?" G'Kar asked, frowning suspiciously at him.

"I hear things," Ta'lon said, "And you'll need a bodyguard."

"Not this time," G'Kar replied, "I must do my own..."

He stopped as Ta'lon grabbed him by the arm. He glared at him. Someone of the lower echelons in Narn society did not touch someone in the upper echelons. It invited trouble.

"Let go of my arm," G'Kar growled, "Or I will break your hand."

"You plan on going somewhere dangerous," Ta'lon said, still not letting go, "Potentially dangerous. You will need looking after."

"I don't need looking after," G'Kar snarled, pushing the hand off.

"That is where you are wrong," Ta'lon said, following him into the plane, "You are undoubtedly wanting to exact a small amount of revenge. And if you do not take me, I shall be very unhappy."

His hand strayed to the handle of the long bladed K'tok sword stabbed to his back. Tradition stated that once drawn, it could not be sheathed unless blood was drawn. G'kar, unable to think of a valid reason Ta'lon couldn't come, pointed to a seat in the back.

"You sit there," he commanded.

Ta'lon glanced at the seat and nodding took his seat.

* * *

"I've never heard of it," Londo Mollari, Emperor of the "glorious" Centauri Republic said, glancing at Virini.

"Nor have I," the jittery, funny little man said, "Except during the festivities."

"That was well over three months ago," Mollari said, "Vir, there you are!"

Vir Cotto, Prime Minister of the Centauri Republic and first in line to the throne past Mollari walked in. He stopped and glanced around at the Court. He blinked a couple times in bewilderment.

"Sorry," Vir said, "I was a little preoccupied at the moment."

"Doing what?" the Minister of Transportation asked, one of the few times he and Vir were in the same room. There was no love between the two, for this particular minister was the Thiord in line to the throne.

"I...well...it's not important," Vir said, waving the question aside, "So, what did I miss?"

"Have you ever heard of the Senate of Silence?" Mollari asked.

Vir frowned. "No," he said after a few seconds, "No, I never have."

"Neither have I," Virini interjected himself, "But there was a Ranger during the festivities who wanted me to relay the message to you that the 'Senate of Silence is preparing to move'."

"I'm guessing," Mollari cut off the bumbling minister, "That you were supposed to know what it's about."

Vir shook his head. "I can find out though," he said, "I haven't spoken to my associates in a while, perhaps they know of something."

"Good," Mollari nodded his head, "Now onto more important matters. Minister, you have some business to bring before us?"

* * *

The Centarum was a place that many people aspired to gain a seat in. Here is where the most powerful men besides the Emperor and his Court sat in judgement over the Centauri Republic. Built high on the Mountain Emperior which overlooked the Capitol City a mile away, the cold days were hot and the hot days were cold, as the saying went. The Centarum met every week, discussing the way things would happen and occur within the Republic, molding it to fit the power games of the Houses.

Most of the Centarum had served fifty years in public office before getting that coveted position. And once they had it, they never would let go. And somehow, despite massive wars, the Centarum still went virtually untouched by that blight. Even the Narns hadn't dared ravage the great house.

"And as a result of this wanton lack of use of the lands," the Centauri noble with a small crest fan of hair said, "I ask the Centarum to grant to House Draga the lands of the House Betara."

Te Lord Speaker rubbed the space between his eyes brows. It was a tiring thing, listening to the whining and complaining of so many nobles. But, someone had to do it, and it fell upon the oldest and wisest member of the Centarum. But, while he certainly felt the oldest, he didn't exactly feel the wisest.

"The Centarum will vote on this matter," he replied, his voice a low gravelly thing, "And you will receive our answer in the morning."

"Thank you," the Noble said, bowing and turning to stride out of the open roofed building.

"A short recess is now in order," the Lord Speaker announced, pushing a chime to announce the thirty minute recess, "The Centarum is adjourned for thirty minutes."

There was a rising audible sigh of relief as the nobles and lords suddenly began talking to each other and moving about. The Great Game of Houses was especially prevalent here. Every man of true power was here, and alliances and counter-alliances were made on the whim of a thought. The Lord Speaker laid back his head, and allowed himself a nap. A brief escape from the brutal politicking going on. He could not be touched by any man here, and no one could ally with him.


	15. Telepathic Tragedy

**Chapter 14: Telepathic Tragedy**

The White Star patrolled the border of the Terran Empire. Word had come, saying that soon they'd be expanding into other realms. So, they needed to be ready. They approached a nebula, scanning it with Vorlon scanners. There seemed nothing wrong in this area, and as it completed it's scan, proceeded towards an asteroid field. Then, as it moved, the nebula vanished, replaced by a massive fleet of star shaped ships and massive battle-cruisers that looked like hands, with the forward sections broken into four part and tilted downwards. They sped forward, and the White Star was overwhelmed and destroyed.

_Chaos is the light._

_Chaos is the truth._

_Chaos is the way._

_Chaos was in the beginning._

_Chaos always finds a way to survive._

They were the forgotten. The abandoned. Linked as if by oily webs of telepathic chains. Each and everyone no longer remembering home, family, friends. What had been the name of those who had sired them? What had their first kiss been like?

_Chaos is the road._

_Chaos is the poem._

_Chaos can hurt the unrepentant._

_Chaos is the gospel of Gods._

_Chaos is the forge of evolution._

What had been the feel of skin? What had been the sound of the wind. What organ had pumped the fliuds that had sustained their lives? Had they been alcoholics? Had they been sex-crazed? Had they flown as if by the wings of eagles, or had worms been more important than they?

_Chaos is the song of sleep._

_Chaos is the story to live by._

_Chaos is a choice._

_Chaos is a fact._

_Chaos is the shuffle of the music player._

Had they been criminals? Or business people of high standing? Had they lived in golden halls of pleasure? Or gained approval and satisfaction for the sweat that came down their own brows? Had they been happy? Or had their lives been a mantra of high lofty dreams, that they never could attain by their own weak wills?

_Chaos bred the world._

_Chaos sired the galaxy._

_Chaos breathed life into the void._

_Chaos was the first._

_Chaos will be the last._

Had they laughed at every little things, funny or not? Had they been deadbeats, a drag upon friends and family? Had they been serious, with no sense of humor? Had they families of their own? Or had they believed that the best path was of loneliness?

_Chaos is master._

_Chaos is sire._

_Chaos is lord._

_Chaos is obedience._

_Chaos is subservience._

There was words. Someone was speaking. No, there was at least two. They could feel comfort in the first. He was chaos, he was dark. But the other one. He hurt them. They quailed at this being. One minutes, he was darker than the worst abyss, so dark, they feared being drowned. The other minute, he was hotter than a blazing sun, washing everything away. They feared they'd be scorched.

_Chaos is hate._

_Chaos is fear._

_Chaos is anguish._

_Chaos is sorrow._

_Chaos is greed._

There was no longer any will. Try as they might, to follow the continued whispers of chaos, to follow it's example and be chaotic, it oppressed them, punished them for any stretch and push for freedom. They wanted to be free. They wanted to be chaos. But, the chaos was jealous, and would allow no one to rival it.

_Chaos is love._

_Chaos is happiness._

_Chaos is joy._

_Chaos is passion._

_Chaos is exhilaration._

None of them remembered when they had been anything other than the machine. The Machine spoke to them. They hurt when other used mental powers to block them. But they could hear the Machine. It whispered to them. It gave them strength. And love. And when they spoke to another, it came out in high pitched screeches, like a black beast of prey, calling as it searched for it's prey.

* * *

"So," Bester said while sitting in a chair, looking at the mirror, "You aren't just a figment of my imagination anymore."

"No," the image in the glass said, "But I have to say, couldn't you have chosen a bit bigger of a mirror? I'm stuck here."

"No Sheridan," he shook his head, "Mirrors are expensive. And besides, you'll only be there for a little while."

Sheridan looked around him at the edges of the mirror, unconvinced. But, he decided it wasn't worth the hassle. Besides, it was good to be somewhere where it wasn't so d-n bright all the time. So, he looked back at Bester and the woman sitting next to him.

"I'm not sure we've been introduced," he said, looking at the redhead.

"Lyta Allen," she said, arms folded in front of her, "But I already know who you are."

"Pleasure," he said, "So, what has myself been up to lately?"

Bester launched into an account of the past three years. The Hand had begun it's war against the forces of Chaos and Order, and already thirty worlds had been laid waste. He spoke of Sheridan's aggressive war, which while he was holding back the tide, he wasn't defending some places that were viatl, and in many places that weren't he'd defend them as if everything hinged on it. The demands of labor by the Emperor had arisen, and many people were dying from sheer exhaustion. There had been minor revolts, and swift retribution.

"The only way to beat me is to effective and underground resistance that is not just underground, but very visible," Sheridan said.

"We've been meaning to for a while," Lyta said, "But there are so few telepaths that haven't been killed or enslaved that we simply aren't enough."

"There are millions of beings out there that need leadership and would be willing to follow whoever would lead them," Sheridan said.

"You don't mean mundanes," Bester said with a condescending disdainful tone.

"I don't see you have much of a choice," Sheridan pointed out, "You will never beat Sheridan without combining all the people together you can. But, your best chance to win this war and defeat this Hand would be to get me inside my body."

"And how do you propose we can do that?" Lyta asked.

"You're both telepaths," Sheridan said, "I am sure you can figure something out."


	16. The Ragged Edge of the Abyss

**Chapter 15: The Ragged Edge of the Abyss**

From a balcony stood a woman, tall and slender. Human she was in appearance. A form fitting white leather dress she wore, accentuating her curves, cut off at the shoulder to leave her long arms bare. She was by no mean voluptuous, but she still had a very shapely body despite how tall she was. Her skin was a near white shade, although it had a golden-brown tint to it. Her skin was smooth, with absolutely no flaw or defect. Her brunette hair fell to a couple inches past the bottom of her shoulder blade, and was in a braided loop of four ponytails tied together. There seemed to be flames coming off the tips of her hair follicles.

If that was not enough to command the attention of people, then her eyes were. The irises were a very sharp red. They were so sharp in color, they seemed more like diamonds in her eye-sockets than actual eyes. Her glance was keen and piercing.

Hundreds had gathered in the small village square. Indeed, the entire village on the southernmost continent of this most insignificant of Brakiri colonies at the very border of the Brakiri space of the Terran Empire had gathered to see this woman. But not only to see her, but to listen to the message she brought.

"Peace is the goal of all those who have a soul," she said, in a voice that was not high, but was a warm, melodious tone. "Peace if the ultimate prize. Peace of the mind, peace of the soul, peace of the body. The peace between nations, powers and principalities are nothing more than an mockery, as it is simply the end of one war and the time of preparations for the next bloodletting. One who has peace, even if the whole of the planet they are on is battling in a terrible war, can stand with a calm that would make the stars themselves envious."

The Brakiri whispered to themselves in agreement. Brakiri lore had one particular hero that fit that description. Meltara had been a teacher of wisdom that had walked between two battling armies. They were fighting over a single building. He had entered the building and slept, even as energy weapons fired around him. Yes, he had been wounded, but beyond that he had been unharmed. What inspiration there was from such a story!

"Peace is simply one of the many gifts of the Purified," the woman said, her eyes taking in the entire crowd that were watching her intently, "The true nature of the Great God is perfection. He wants all to be purified. I am a product of the perfection He offers. The Prophet Meltara walked through the Fires of Walshburn and was not singed, but raised to the next state of elation. But the perfection is meant for everyone, not just to a few elite. True perfection is meant to be shared by everyone."

The Brakiri gasped and sighed at such promises. Yes, there before them was a woman most perfect. Were not they as well worthy of such perfection? Why should only a few benefit from the rewards offered when everyone could have it? That was certainly more fair.

The woman sighed. "I realize you have seen only the brutal side of the Hand," she said, the regret at such a state of things showing through her whole body, even as she stood erect before them, "We came to offer peace and salvation to this galaxy. But the Terran Empire will not share this galaxy. It's Emperor cares only for what he can have. For ten years you have suffered wars, with only a three year respite from another great war, in which even the Gods of this galaxy were subjected by him. We would end the fighting, but he has killed everyone of our ambassadors we send. How can we stop a war that it's leader seems intent upon fighting?"

"The people overthrow that leader!" a Brakiri shouted and there was sounds of agreement.

"The Great God rewards even the smallest of loyal acts," she said, looking with compassion upon them, "He understands you have been forced to act against you will. The perfection he offers can never be yours if you are not free to choose. The leaders here take and take, demanding tremendous acts of sacrifices on the part of the people they claim to support, and then punish them for grumbling. They do not wish salvation to be upon you."

There were shouts and cries of anguish that seemed to cause the buildings around her to shake. The outrage of those who dare not allow them to be saved! Where was the brutal monsters that only killed and defiled? This woman had not coerced them in any way. Not like Sheridan.

"Go!" she commanded, holding a hand up high, "Liberate yourselves from the oppressors who have conquered you without a shot! Defeat the minions that uphold evil on this planet. Cast the unclean from your midst. Go, and you shall be rewarded with the first of the many great bounty of gifts!"

There was shouts of acclamation and as one the entire assemblage turned to storm out of the village. Two miles away there was an Imperial garrison that overlooked the ten miles of land around them. The stampeded made the ground shake, and many were trampled underfoot. But they tried still to drag themselves to help in overthrowing evil. Many were jostled and in the rush thrown so hard against walls of buildings that their skulls fractured and they died.

As the last person rushed from the square, the young woman smiled. Conversion was a most satisfactory result of time spent among people. From behind her she felt from the suite two men step out. She turned from the gratifying sight to behold the acolytes. They wore deep hooded ebony black robes that were tied around the middle with blood red rope. Their hoods were so deep that their race could not be guessed.

She could feel their undying love and devotion for her. She was the Messiah of the Abyss. Lotaria was her name, and all the servants of the Hand loved her. If she demanded they have intercourse with her, they'd do it willingly. If she asked them to cut off their own limbs to satisfy the Great God, they'd do so singing praises.

"I will return to the _Purifier_," she said, stepping between them into the suite that she had spent her week in as she converted the masses of sinners on this world, "I want you to have priests here to Purify the few that will return from the assault on the Terran garrison. Oh," she stopped and turned to them, "Make sure they are reciting the Incantation of Purification this time from the Book of the Hand. Last planet they went to, we had to exterminate the whole populace because they had performed the Rite of Redemption."

"Yes, Holy One," they replied, the fire of their love and devotion washing over her as a warm wave hits a sandy beach.

* * *

The saucer-ship speed towards the _Abyss_-Destroyer, firing rapidly as it approached. It was the last surviving ship of an armada of Vree ships, but as it tore through of the star ships of the Hand as blasted it to pieces, a well-aimed massive bolt of energy lanced out from the Hand capitol ship and tore through the right half of the ship. Hull tore away and bodies and parts of bodies of the quaint-essential image of aliens old Humans believed in spiraled out into the vacuum of space. The remaining section crashed into the long axe-headed shaped starship, and it became a fireball as the rest of the ship shattered and was pushed aside by the sheer mass of the _Abyss_-Destroyer, which moved like a great sea beast, parting the seaweeds of ruin that made up the Vree Tacticians Guild as it prepared to position itself within firing range of the Vree's third major population planet, Vree-tropolis.

Bopor Cbtina stood on the bridge, his robes having been exchanged over the years to a black leather suit with a tattered black cloak that flowed behind him. His arms were crossed, and he looked out towards the planet, calculating the exact position, the exact calculations that would annihilate these sinners. They had rejected the Hand, not all, but most. For the sake of the few, the whole had to be extinguished.

_"No!" the woman shouted, as the wall opened into a cavernous hole and sucked her into space. Blood still dripped from her from the bodily fluids that had accompanied the birthing process._

He pushed that memory aside. It was the only thing that still bound him to his old life. He had once been named...Michael? Was it? He could not remember. All there was, was the Hand. He knew what it required of him, and he had been richly rewarded with the conquest of entire races and the conversion of both Holy Men and atheist fanatics.

"Are we in range yet?" he asked, aloud, even though he already knew the answer.

A bug-like Shikta, pale and with long antenna sticking from his head, replied from where he was at, "Yes, Prophet. We are in range."

"Then by all means," he commanded, his voice soaking into the living walls, "Purify."

Dea-Mans began the process of firing the weapon. The ship slowly but ever more urgently began to shudder as the great weapon prepared to fire. Bopor could feel the dark spirit that was the heart and soul of the ship quivering in anticipation as it prepared to deliver a death blow unlike anything these people had ever experienced. It was an exhilarating feeling being on one of the only two Abyss-Destroyers in the Milky Way. His own _Eclipse_ and the _Purifier_, who held the Messiah.

A dark vortex began to form around the ship, and after it built up to mass effect, the ship seemed to buck as it slung the vortex at the planet. Within second it completely enveloped the planet in a dark purple cloud, electrical storms dancing in the clouds. Then, just as soon as it begun, it was over. The cloud began to dissipate.

Vree-tropolis had been equivalent to Earth. Sixty-six percent water, nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, rich in forestry and other planet and wildlife. Sixteen billion people had lived in three hundred population centers.

But not, a dark brown mist stood around the planet, no longer cloud of white, but just brown muck. Bopor used the Power of the Hand to enhance the space around the planet. Every tree, every animal, every man, woman or child that had a kind spirit had been sucked from the ground and placed at the outer edge of the vortex. He watched them struggle for air, dying each and everything from asphyxiation. They had resisted, and had lost.

He passed them by, descending into the darkness. Great birds of prey now soared through the skies, even meaner and nastier than before. The buildings had been transformed into temples, every one of them to the Great God, the steeples jagged to show they were ready to sacrifice anything that walked in. The animals, mean pets, mangy creatures, blood lusting animals had grown, some loosing fur, while others gained. Some grew sharper teeth with some had no teeth. Some had no eyes, while others did. Their shrieks and cries could be heard from forests of twisted and gnarled trees, and forests of thorns that grew from parched ground. Where once green grass had grown, now only brown stuff grew, vapors of black filth rising from them. The water had turned choppy and corse, and massive sharks alone now swam, every other fish being shredded to pieces by the water, no matter how fierce they were.

But the Vree, they had been changed. The criminals, the insane, the bullies, the mean spirited, the soldiers, the politicians. The swindlers, the prostitutes. They were changed, transformed to feel creatures, shrieking with such terrible cries that the sound seemed to bounce off the buildings themselves.

The graves had also opened. Decaying corpses pulled themselves out, while skeletons rose from the grave, their bones making a chuckling sound with every movement. From graves where everything had rotten away, the spirits rose, rising through the air to join the ranks of the Dea-Mans on board the _Eclipse_.

Bopor smiled. This was step one of the plan. And hopefully, he would soon be joined by the ultimate prize of the war. The one that whose downfall would convert most of this uncivilized galaxy.

* * *

John Sheridan was master of the largest empire in the history of the galaxy. He had won an entire war, usurped entire governments, created a system of government that had lasted now for fourteen years. Sure, there had been dissention within the ranks. But he had crushed them. Even the Selvan now paid homage to him. He had become both Light and Dark, Order and Chaos. At his word, all peoples bowed.

And yet, who'd imagine the Emperor himself batting in a baseball batting cage by himself? No Anla'shok to protect him. No assassins waiting to flash out and smite anyone coming close to him. Just him by himself. Not that anyone could really hurt him. He was a God after all.

He had learned years ago how to conceal the Dark-Light cloud that surrounded his being, keeping it inside. But, there was no mistake an almost transparent quality to his skin. Even as trickles of sweat passed down his skin, his baseball shirt soaking as he prepared to swing the wooden bat again, it did nothing to diminish the beauty he had.

When he had built the new _Babylon 5_, he had insisted in the addition of a baseball field, and batting cages. He had made Baseball the Imperial Sport, and there were now Drazi teams, a Narn league, a Centauri roster. And the Galactic Cup was held here on _Babylon 5_. He felt at times like the ancient casers as they watched the bloody sports of the Coliseum. However, he was better than all of that.

The ball shot forth from the pitching machine. In his mind's eye, everything slowed. Nothing faster than a heartbeat. With great leisure he swung the bat at the correct moment, and the ball went soaring with a certain slowness. However, while it might have seemed slow to him, he had the pitching machine at its fastest speed and his swings would have all but been invisible to those races with poor eyesight.

He could sense General Na'Tok as the Narn Military Advisor for the Terran Empire stepped behind him in the cage. In truth, he could sense everyone on board, every item, every emotion. Had someone of less strength and control been given these powers, they'd have most likely gone insane. Luckily he was not one of those weak people.

"The Hand has laid waste to Vree-tropolis," the Narn said in his slow deliberate manner, "They are moving through the commercial and trading routes as they are aimed at Small-Vree. We believe they'll be there in two days."

Sheridan continued to swing his bat, as if he had not heard the Narn. The General hesitated slightly before continuing.

"It would be wise to aide them," he said, but when there was no response, "Did you hear me, Majesty?"

"Tell me, General," Sheridan said, smashing a ball so far and hard it penetrated the far wall, "Why should we care about a race that cares for nothing except to humor themselves? D-n Vree. They care nothing unless it gives them amusement."

"They are still subjects of the Empire," the Narn said, "That alone should assure their protection."

Sheridan snorted and placed his bat on the ground. The pitcher recognized the state of rest it's human operator was in so, calling out, "Hold Ball" went into standby mode. His fingers drummed on the end of his bat handle. He really hated the Vree, and they could perish for all he cared. But, this war was dragging on far too long. He had to finish it, or at least deal such a crippling blow that the Hand would take a millennium to recover.

"Summon Marrago and Kulomani," he said, swinging the bat up to rest on his shoulder, "Tell him we go to finish this war."

The Narn nodded. As they turned, the pitching machine mistook the motion as preparation to swing again, and so shot out another ball. The ball sped towards Sheridan, but right before it could connect, it burned in a fiery blaze and snuffed out, the ashes falling to the ground.

* * *

The massive fleet of Hand vessels continued through space on the hyperspace lanes as much a worm will continually drill through the ground, unstoppable in its progress. Over six dozen star shaped fighters drifted behind the massive axe of the _Abyss_-Destroyer as the _Eclipse_ made its way. Everything was slaved to the will of the Prophet, Bopor Cbtina as he sat in the lower chambers of the ship, sitting cross-legged with the essence of the ship surrounding him, creating a miniature control room with which his mind was the console. Every single vessel and its crew he could sense.

Something was moving in Hyperspace. He could sense it. An opening, as something powerful beyond the imagines of this galaxy began to awake. He could sense the collective hatred that was behind it, like tentacles it was beginning to reach and push back a door to this dimension. Whatever power or consciences guided it was not dissimilar in motives. Only with a dark hatred for all things living than the Hand had previously felt.

Something was opening a door to this reality, and he could sense a great urgency from the Great God. Never had he felt fear from the Master of All, but now he did. A fear of what would happen should it be allowed to come forth.

"Destroy it," The Great God bellowed in his mind, "before it arises from its tomb."

Turning his mind towards fleet command, he ordered every ship to break from the hyperspace beacon and turn towards the location of the door. Three hours passed as the fleet speed forward, weapons charging as they went. The urgency was beyond anything he had ever felt, and even the most menial of servants could feel the need from the Great God to destroy the door. Forward they pushed, and soon, with his mind, he could see the goal. An artifact, more massive than anything ever seen in this galaxy, besides the great temple from which Bopor Cbtina was born from.

"Master," a voice called from the bridge, "We've got company."

The hyperspace lane was opening to the outside world, and in through the openings was coming a massive fleet. The whole might of the Terran Empire was pouring through, surrounding the artifact. For once he thought perhaps the infidels wished to assist in the work of destroying this vast enemy. But he saw they were charging not to destroy the artifact. He could sense it. No, they came to its call.

"So, the Gods of Death, as you'd call them the Thirdspace Aliens have taken control of the Terran Empire," the Great God whispered angrily, "Destroy them all."

Bopor nodded, although he didn't feel his prize. Sheridan was not here. Like any good lord, he lurked in the shadows, far behind the troops that would give their lives, here, in hyperspace. As he issued telepathic commands, the Prophet stood and the incasing melted from around him. He had best command the battle from the bridge.

Hyperspace combat as a rule was rare. Historians have guessed that perhaps only three such battles had ever taken place. The reason was simple enough. The eddies and tides of hyperspace was so erratic that if a ship got lost, they'd never be able to find their way back. And historians would wonder why the great trap was sprung in such a torrential and dangerous place as hyperspace. Whatever reason, there was perhaps no larger battle in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy.

The Hand, directed by the Great God, rushed almost every single one of their ships into hyperspace. This battle was penultimate in importance. If they could crush the Terran Empire's military here, they'd have won the galaxy. Gettysburg, Yorktown, Coriana VI...none of these battles even paled by comparison to the importance of this battle.

Dozens of squadrons of star fighters rushed into the scene, sweeping over the flights of Starfuries, Narn Heavy Fighters, Centauri fighters and Minbari fliers. But for every three ships the Hand destroyed, they lost two ships to White Star and Imperial dreadnaughts, inspired in part by staff weapons from the very old Earth sci-fi television program, _Stargate SG-1._

Bopor stood on the bridge, and watched as three White Stars attacked his ship, strafing the surface with pulse and laser weapons. But, well aimed shots from the point defense systems knocked each out with a single blow, shattering the ships in half. A _Valen_ cruiser, one of the finest ships in the Imperial Navy, swept forward, juking right and left as they hit the Eclipse with high yield energy weapons. Six star fighters swept around it, plastering it with fire from all sides, causing it's deflection systems to collapse and pieces of hull to be torn away, before three squadrons of starfuries peppered two of the ships, destroying them and drawing one away. Bopor smiled as a series of quick shots from the forward section of the ship clipped off the wings of the ship and caused it to spiral into the swirling mists of hyperspace.

Everywhere he looked, it was a panamonium of ships and weapons fire. Debris spiraled, and hit ships either spiraled out towards the expanse of hyperspace, or crashed into other ships. Preferably enemy ships. He was surprised that no Vorlon or Shadow ships had yet shown themselves, but, one thing at a time. The gate was beginning to open.

_RRREEEAAALLLEEEAAASSSEEE-UUUSSS!_

From onboard the Vorlon flagship, a massive planet killer with over four hundred Vorlons going about their business, Sheridan could feel the flow of battle. His old friend, Michael Garibaldi, Bopor Cbtina was onboard the _Abyss_-Destroyer. His mind was as bare as an old novel, opened with the slightest flick of a finger, while he remained closed and invisible to him. He had gathered two hundred Shadow ships, a hundred Drakh ships and fifty Vorlon ships. The time was upon them, to end this war.

"Jump to hyperspace!" he ordered, and drawing his sword, allowed his light and dark to flash with an intensity that he had never experience before.

The vortexes opened and the fleet shot into the battle, right in the midst of the Hand fleet. Some ships collided as the Imperial fleet slide into the battle, their hulls crumbling as they collided. But onwards they went, firing and disrupting the gathered forces of the Hand.

The gate was now wide enough that a bluish white vortex began to be seen.

_RRREEECCCIIIEEEVVVEEE-OOOUUURRR-GGGIIIFFFTTT!_

So, Sheridan was here. That made things more difficult. Bopor continued the fight, but he was having to give ground, to try to reform a new line. More ships were arriving, but they would nowhere be enough to drive back the gathered forces. He had failed to stop Sheridan, who he knew was on the most massive ship, which was building up with energy.

"Send all fighters to penetrate the Younger Races lines!" he shouted, "And prepare the weapon! We can turn the tide...but only if we destroy Sheridan!"

"You will have to do much better than that to kill me," a voice said from behind, and he turned, to see Sheridan on his bridge, sword drawn. He was no longer to be seen as a man, the light and dark emanating from his body so fiercely, he was a speck of light in the midst of a massive vortex. The very heat of the light burned his eyes and caused his hordes to cower with fear.

"Fire the weapon as soon as you can!" he ordered the Dea-Mans who were pressing themselves against the wall in fear. "The rest of you attack!"

Humans, Shikta and Dea-Mans threw themselves forward. Bopor began an incantation, which filled his hosts with a dark rage. Speed was increased a dozen fold, strength by a magnitude in the fifties times their normal strength. With a flash of light, every single stroke of the blade of Sheridan rent asunder foe by foe, splitting them in half and sending blood flecking on the walls and consoles.

The ship then shuddered and the dark soul screeched in pain. There was a shout and Bopor connected with the Captain of the Host. Brimarri, former second-in-command of the Anla'Shok, and now True Follower of the Hand. He was communicating to him.

"They are boarding the ship with breeching pods," he reported, his forces rushing to the breeches.

"Where?" he demanded.

"Every deck!"

"How many?"

"Around seventy!"

Just then he focused on the scene and saw the Ranger as he rushed with his forces towards one of the gaping holes in the ship. Humans, Minbari, Drazi and Narn poured out of the ship, and a Vorlon in his silver and brown encounter-suit rushed onto the ship, using his eyestalk as a weapon, blasting away Hand minions as they rushed towards them.

He snarled, and spread his incantation to all corners of the ship. Even the ship was beginning to resist. In some places, the ship absorbed the breeching pod, catching a few soldiers still inside. In others, the floor suddenly opened to space beneath the intruders and they were sucked into the warm embrace of hyperspace. In some places, it grabbed and pulled an unfortunate soul into the wall, where it began to melt away the flesh of the fool.

Suddenly he became aware that everyone on the bridge was dead, except for him and Sheridan. Sheridan lifted his hand at the same time Bopor raised his. A massive beam of searing hot light shot from Sheridan while a wall of freezing stone rushed forward, striking Sheridan in the chest. The stone shattered as it made contact, and Sheridan jumped forward, sword raised. Bopor flung his hand out, and a massive staff leapt from the wall and into his hand. Raising the staff, he blocked the blow.

_JJJOOOIIINNN-UUUSSS!_

Marrago felt his ship shudder as the broken remains of a ship slapped against his hull. Raising a hand back, he slid his hand through his hair, pushing it back into place. Only as he did that did he realize just how much sweat he had been producing. Even with the joining of the Vorlon and Shadow ships, the enemy was still getting reinforcements, and the ship had already received much damage. Smoke bellowed into the room, sparks flashing from broken power lines and the dead bodies of crew littered the bridge.

"Power coupling of weapons are running low!" the Third Weapons officer reported, the only senior weapons officer still standing.

"Engine efficiency down by sixty percent," the chief engineer also reported, "Hull integrity down to fifty percent."

Marrago knew his ship could not continue much longer at this rate. The Hand was certainly putting up quiet a fight. There would be no way to keep fighting at this rate anywho.

"Pull back!" he snarled, "Send in the _Valencia_ and the _Macahara_ to cover us. Get our weapons time to recharge and focus on repairs to the hull integrity."

"Sir! Sir!" the conn officer exclaimed in alarm.

"What is it?" he snapped, turning a glaring glance at the young man.

"Look!" he said, pointing at the gate.

_IIINNN-DDDEEEAAATTTHHH!_

_"Weapons charged at maximum."_

"About time!" Bopor snarled, twisting the staff around and whacking Emperor Sheridan across the face. He ran to the weapons and pushed the button that would fire the weapon. But, at that moment, he heard in his mind a bellow of rage from the Great God. The door was fully open! The Death Gods were emerging. Destroy them! Destroy them now!

"Fire!" he shouted, and pushing the button, the ship began to vibrate.

But, at the same time, the Vorlon Planet Killer fire, it's energy cutting through ships of the Hand and smashing into the _Eclipse_. It's shields absorbed the blast, but collapsed, systems shattering all over the bridge. The ship was knocked off target and the weapon fired, but it was no longer aimed at the gateway, but at the Planet Killer. It couldn't move to escape the vortex that surrounded it and encompassed seven Vorlon ships.

"No!" he shouted, smashing the panel.

There was no way he'd be able to get enough power back into the weapon to fire again. At the same time, ships were pouring out of the vortex, and the single surviving Dreadnaught was bearing down on the _Eclipse_. The massive ship was returning fire, but two-thirds of its weapons were off line. Ships were flying in to absorb the blasts aimed at the flagship, but Shadow ships came in from behind and soon, the ship was being racked with fire from all sides.

He turned around to face Sheridan, and Sheridan was standing there, sword held high in the air. Bopor charged him, and feinting with a right strike caused Sheridan to strike in that direction. But, as Sheridan was overextended, he stabbed with his spear, driving hard into the chest of his foe, dark lightning shooting out of it and around the human.

Sheridan laughed and with a hefty swing, smashed into the side of Bopor's face. Punch after punch made him stumble backwards, but he kept the staff sticking to Sheridan's chest and increased the intensity of the charges. Sheridan swung his hand back, and a massive spiked mace on a chain swept out, and with a swing smashed the Prophet across the face, tearing into his flesh and gouging into the side of his eye.

He fell backwards, his staff still in hand. He was now firing spells that would have vaporized any mortal, but was easily blown aside as sweeping motions of Sheridan's hand. Sheridan responded by thrusting out his hand, no sword in it, and a stream of bolts flew forward. Bopor raised a hand and deflected most of them. Once they were completely gone, he reached his hand back to call forth pieces of corpses all over the bridge to throw at Sheridan. But, the bolts he thought had been gone reappeared, cloaked by his opponent. They ran through his body, dozens of small metal projectiles that punctured his body. He roared in pain and used that pain to propel him up. The pain and suffering on the ship gave him strength and power. He rushed forward, raising his staff over his head to smash down on Sheridan. But suddenly the blade was in Sheridan hand, and it ran through his chest, penetrating his heart.

He gasped, standing there, his eyes wide as he looked at Sheridan. And the spell was broken. No longer was he held by the Hand. His death had freed him. He collapsed on the ground, gasping for air, Sheridan looking happy at the downfall of his old enemy. And older friend.

" Elizabeth..." And with that, Michael Garibaldi knew no more.


	17. Rebellious Minds

**Chapter 16: Rebellious Minds**

Brimarri's denn'bok flashed forth in the darkened hallways, smashing hard into the Drazi soldier coming forward, swinging a blade at him. It connected just above the Drazi's ear, and with the feeling of paper being torn with a punch, the Drazi dropped, blood erupting in light blue ooze from his wound. The ship shook from another explosion, and the Minbari nearly fell backwards. Each explosion seemed to have a higher yield then the blast before hand, or was it simply that the dark spirit that resided in the _Eclipse _was simply unable to cope with the battering it was receiving anymore?

He had felt the Prophet as he was slain. His death had hit the legions of his followers like a hand sweeping through hair and had disorganized them. He could barely manage to keep from being trampled by the host that swayed back and forth in their indecision. Then the Vorlon had revealed himself, leaving the encounter-suit and began a vigorous pursuit, a flaming brand of energy wielded like a sword as it slew three enemies at a time. The battle had fallen completely to the forces of the Terran Empire, and the Great God would have to accept his temporary set-back here.

Turning to fend off a Narn who was coming forward with curved sword dripping blood, he swung hard. The Narn lifted his blade, but when the steel of the denn'bok and the sword met, the blade shattered, the effect spiraling up the blade, through the handle and into his hand and up his arms to stop at his shoulder. Each bone, every inch was ruptured from the blast. The Narn bellowed, and Brimarri struck, driving the fighting pike up into the Narn's mouth. He hooked it underneath the soft cavity of his opponents mouth and threw him up and down, the edge driving up into the brain cavity and killing him, blood erupting from the gaped open mouth.

Defeat would not be without cost. Brimarri could see the cost, the entire hallway seeming to be covered by a blanket of the dead and dying. Now was the time to depart, looking for an escape pod. He could use the energy of the Great God to help him chart a way out of this disastrous area. He was the chief Defender of the Great Gods servants in this realm. And the Messiah needed his help, since the Prophet was no longer in need of protecting.

Down the hall he stumbled, blood dripping from the multi-blood covered weapon. The spirit of _Eclipse_ was thrashing in anguish and pain, and before he knew it, the hallways were beginning to become rippled waves, throwing bodies and fallen debris as the waves swept through. He saw one coming and taking a deep breath, jumped over the nearest wave. He landed on the top of the next wave and hopped from wave to wave. He reached the end and rolled, wondering what terrible damage could have inflicted such pain. There in the hallway, before him, were servants of the Hand and Terran Imperial soldiers. They stood, their mouths drawing into a smile, staring at something that did not exist.

He had no time for this foolishness. He raised his denn'bok high to strike, and then the whole host turned and attacked him.

* * *

The mothership was a less than stellar affair. Had Bester and his resistance had more funds, he would have built a better vessel. Instead, he was forced to rely upon a very old Earth Alliance warship, _Hyperion_-Class. The _Lexington_. The most secure way to make sure Sheridan didn't get lost was to carry him in his mind. A little awkward when considering the fact that Sheridan would at random times start telling a story he didn't really care to listen to, or be up all night telling jokes. It had been his idea to use the _Lexington_, even despite the fact it was more or less a floating pile of junk by the time they found it. But, that had been roughly two years ago when the rebellion had begun, and even though the great powers were struggling for domination, they were keeping a low profile.

He moved through the low gravity area, annoyance building as Sheridan was singing a ridiculous drinking song. His hand lightly touched the hand rail, and he passed a mundane on his way to engineering to fix the engines. They had been malfunctioning earlier that day. He nodded to him, but he suddenly lost focus on what he was doing as Sheridan increased the volume of his singing to the top of his lungs. With a slam he smashed right into a low gravity lift that was being pushed towards the cargo area.

"I'm sorry! So sorry!" the human said, pulling the cart to a stop as Bester fell backwards on the ground, "I didn't see you coming."

"Get off me!" Bester snapped, pushing the woman backwards against the lift, "Stupid mundanes! Don't look where you are going." He grabbed his head between both his hands and shouted, "Shut up! You are so annoying!"

The woman burst into tears as Bester stood up and staggered off, pounding the side of his head with his palm. He continued to the bridge, but seeings as it was still a good corridor off, he had time to get after Sheridan.

_"Will you shut up?"_

_"Why?"_

_"You are making it hard to concentrate."_

_"Not my fault you aren't as superior as you are always claiming to be."_

Bester angrily gripped the low grivity bar as he continued his way to the bridge. _"That has nothing to do with it Sheridan!"_ he snarled, _"I've got a rebellion to run. And you aren't helping anyone by your incessant talking in my head!"_

_"A rebellion that would never have come to being without my help."_

Bester hated it. Because it was true. They were growing, from Humans that had managed to escape the apocalypse of Epsilon 3, to the disgruntled Minbari who felt they had been abused by the Vorlons, to Vorlons who felt that the pupil shouldn't surpass the master. Even the strange Sel'van had sided with them. All were more or less secret arraignments, but all the secrets would have been laid bare to the godlike powers of the phyisical Emperor Sheridan had he not been distracted by religious zealot invasions. That, and with the aliens of Third Space now having entered into the Milky Way Galaxy, who knew what lay in store for them.

_"Not my fault you decided to carry me and not let Lyta despite her offering to,"_ Sheridan continued, _"She'd be a sight prettier naked then you are."_

_"I bet," _Bester snorted, and he stepped onto the bridge. The bridge crew of the _Lexington_ was mainly drawn from the officers of the Earth Alliance who had experience with the technology. Except the Minbari Ranger who sat at Communications, and the gorgeous red headed telepath who sat in the Captain's chair.

_"Hello Lyta," _he called out with his mind.

_"Bester," _she replied, not looking at him,_ "Did you see Zack?"_

_"Your son was too busy to talk at the moment," _he replied,_ "But Captain Drawala believes he is doing fine."_

The time had come. As he stepped up to the chair and took his seat, Lyta vacating it for him, he looked to the Minbari and nodded.

"Send the signal," he ordered, "It's time to start the fall."


	18. The Eye That Sees

**Chapter 17: The Eye That Sees**

_Everything is lost. There is nothing to be gained by further resistance. This is as good a place to die._

Defeatists think that way. Not warriors. Not those that remain true to the warriors code of honor and duty. The Narns were such a people. They held true to what honor was. They had learned it from the old times, back in the days of the Ancient Enemy. Honor was a code by which one lived. Much like the ancient knights of Earth, a Narn warrior was expected to give everything to save the people. FOr they it were that were important. Not the man.

G'Kar was such a man. He'd stood on the battlements of a massive castle and seen Centauri hosts driving against his small, outnumbered band of rebels. He'd lived through the terrible bombardment of the Selvan homeworld by the forces of the Terran Empire. He had faced death at the hands of saboteurs and other defilers. He had gone into the heart of wickedness and driven it out by his personality.

And yet...what really trouble him and gave him pause was seeing a doctor.

"Hold still!" the Human doctor ordered, pushing him back into the chair and placing a circular cleaning tool in the eye socket. "If you had gotten your annual checkups, you wouldn't need this procedure."

"And if I could see a doctor that would mean I wasn't -ow!- trying to kill Londo Mollari," he grunted, clenching the chars to support him as the discomfort made him squirm in his chair.

"Then you really haven't tried hard enough," the doctor said, scrapping along the edges of the eyeball to clean it, "You've had dozens of opportunities now. You've been here how many years now? Six?"

"One does not simply walk into the Imperial Palace and shank the Emperor of the Centauri Republic," the Narn said, the wood of the chair crunching underneath the strength of the grip.

How long had he waited for the opportunity to kill the Emperor? Sure, they had come and gone, but it wasn't time yet. The timing had to be right.

* * *

The faithful were gathered in boats, the water of the lake rippling from the wind that blew. The wind whirled around the single rock that sat in the lake. And the wind swept around the woman who sat with crossed-legs. Her longish brunette hair whipped in the wind, and her eyes were closed. The close fitting blue dress pressed to her and the flaps waved with the passing of the wind. She seemed to be in a trance, although in reality, she was saying a mental prayer. Her long fingered hands were held up on either side of her, her arms to the square. For hours the faithful had watched her, a glow about her. She who was the Messiah.

"Be you not afraid," she said, her voice low, but carrying to the hearts of everyone, so even if they could not hear her speak, knew the words she spoke, "Death is simply a state by which we surpass what once was and to what we shall become. The Purified have no need to be afraid of what is to come. The Lands the Great God have set aside is as big as the entire universe, where every planet is a sanctuary for those who wish them. One does not need starships, or other menial corporeal methods of travel. Everything is provided for, and you can rest from all your labors, be they great or small."

She opened her eyes and took them all in. The wars of the galaxy had intensified, in a way none thought imaginable. The Third Space aliens, who deemed themselves Gods of Death, had rarely left hyperspace in the six years they had been here. But, they were there, and any who entered ran the risk of discovery. But when they did venture forth, they rapidly descended upon planets. Usually they were Hand strongholds they attacked, and the battles were ferocious in ways few could ever imagine. And having hand so much damage wrought upon them during the Battle of the Gateway, the Hands forces were hard put to it to thwart them. But, every once in a while, they were unleashed upon planets that owed no allegiance to anyone. Whether this was their own doing, or that of the god-emperor Sheridan was anyone's guess.

"The simple worry that every thing could lead to death," she said, continuing her sermon, "And they are right. Food can make us choke to death. We could stop breathing as we slept. Fumes could suck the life from us. The throes of ecstasy can cause the heart to fail. Laughter can break the linnings of the rib-cage. Weapons can end the promising life. Old age can weather us until we are no more."

But, no matter how much death was wrought, the work went forward. The Great God did not tremble at such defeats, but took them as opportunities. And indeed, more and more people sought the Hand. The Hand to save them. Both spiritually and physically. By now a fifth of the Galaxy had pledged themselves to the service of the Hand. Let them see what kind of salvation they would enjoy.

"But death is nothing to fear," she said, "For even I, though beautiful, can kill. Death is an end of suffering and toil. Are you not ready to embrace death and travel to higher plains of living? Is not reward what you wish? Only death gives the ultimate rewards."

The crowd on their boats shouted their agreement. They were tired of this life and the failed promises. They were tired of wars and counter-offensives. They hated taxes of a government that lined it's own pockets, but refused to lend help to the other planets of the system. They wanted liberation. As she sat there, the cries became more desperate. They wanted the rewards.

"Then you shall have it," she said, and dropping her hands, clapped them. A massive cloud began to form, swirling round and round. Like a hurricane it was, but one of powers. Cries of exultation rose from the people, as their mortal shells were melted away by the magic that cleansed everything vile. And skin was the most filthiest of objects. Then, she parted her hands, and the cloud departed. There were hundreds of boats. But not a single soul. She could feel the new host of Dea-mans as they rose through the air, to join the ranks of the _Purifier_, to gain the greatest reward.

Everlasting service to the Great God in his holy crusade against the wicked.


	19. The Lost Mind

**Chapter 18: The Lost Mind**

Who was she? Delenn of Mir? Who was she? History has often been baffled by Delenn, who had at one point been on the Grey Council, only to live as a shell underneath her husbands shadow. She was the ultimate trophy wife. Never questioning Sheridan, never once trying to correct him. She had all but given everything to him, and one never could know why. Ten years had passed since the rise of the Terran Empire. The Great Wars were ragging across the galaxy. But faithfully, with a blind devotion she followed her husband.

Why is why what she did in 2373 took all by surprise. Sheridan finally gave Delenn permission to leave his side, something he had never done before. Nor had she asked for it before. But away she went.

* * *

"Can you imagine the ghastly state of this place?" Emperor Mollari said, his face contorting at disgust for what he saw. "Forgive my, my Lady. But let us find you a more suitable room."

"It's alright," Delenn said, putting her careworn hand on one of the great rulers of the Terran Empire, "I'm just glad to be here."

"Hmmm," Mollari said. Dust was on everything, and as he ran a white gloved finger over the dresser. A massive streak was left in it's wake and he sniffed. "Gak! Perhaps I should execute whoever cleans these quarters. Perhaps be a motivator for the rest, yes?"

"Don't kill anyone on my account," she said softly, "Enough blood have been shed already."

Londo didn't say anything in response. It was true. Over twenty years of nonstop war had left a weary galaxy. Delenn turned and walked towards the window. Londo watched her, seeing an infinite sadness in her being. She rested her hands on the railing, looking out over Centauri Prime. It at least had flourished during the war. The comeback from the Narn Occupation had done wonders. But he saw no happiness in her face.

"What is it, my lady?" he asked.

"I awoke today, Londo," she said. "I mean really awoke. Something inside me, that has long been sleeping has been aroused. I don't know what has happened. My husband means well, but it seems the last time I knew him, he was a younger man. Innocent. He had a soul. But not anymore. He's different, and so much has changed. I don't know him."

Londo's eyes widened at what she said. This was not the same woman he had seen on so many occasions when he had visited _Babylon 5_. The Delenn there would never have said such a thing. She'd fawn and adore over her husband.

"My lady..."

"Please," she said, turning her head halfway to him, "Don't call me that. I am Delenn."

"Delenn," Mollari said, "You are tired. It has been a long trip."

Delenn did not say anything, although she obviously wasn't heeding his words. He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, and she wrapped her arms around him. Stunned, he hesitated before patting her on the back.

"It's been so long since anyone has held me," she whispered, although he heard her. "Thank you, Londo."

"Of course," he replied, letting her hug him as long as she wished.

Later when he entered the Throne Room, Vir was standing there, talking to a tall human with wavy hair. It was flecked with grey, but there was power. Londo stopped. It was a techno-mage.

"Ah," the mage said, turning to him, "At last you arrive. We have things to talk about."

"Who are you?" he demanded. He glanced at Vir, who was smiling.

"I am who I am," the Human said.

"His name is Matthew Gideon," Vir began, "He's been helping me a long time. Even back in the days of the Conspiracy of Light. That was before you and I ever met, Londo. But anyways-"

Gideon held up his hand and Vir feel into an abashed silence. Londo couldn't help but be amused by it.

"You have a visitor," he said, "A woman named Delenn."

"Yes," Mollari said, eyeing him suspiciously, "What is it to you?"

"She is the key to ending these wars," Gideon said, "And we're going to help her."


End file.
